Quamquam Absens
by LJ Summers
Summary: Trust shattered, believing his first love has been torn from him forever, Harry grimly dons the mantle of Warrior of the Light. Half a world away, a brilliant witch in a southwestern coven does her best to aid him. Forces are trying to keep them apart, but this IS a Harmony AU. Rated for violence, familiar character death, and future sexual situations. Thanks to Raum for the Latin!
1. Convenio

**A/N:** Remember, per the summary, this is an **AU**. Alternate Universe. Things will be  different than they are in the books and/or movies. It's **Harry/Hermione**. It's rated **M**. People you like **might not be** the way you like them.

My thanks to **Katmom** for putting up with me. Not just here, but basically through everything I've ever published.

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 _ **Legal Statement for this story: This is a work of derivative fiction and I make no claims of ownership upon its contents. I have many copyrights in the world, but this is not among them, nor will it ever be. All things**_ **Harry Potter** _ **are the property of J.K. Rowling and to all whom she has given license. I'm only here for my own amusement and, perhaps, yours.**_

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 _ **31 July 1994**_

"…So, you're free? No criminal record? You don't have to live in a cave anymore?" Harry could hardly believe it. His godfather, Sirius Black, was cleared since they got Peter Pettigrew to confess. Joy and the taste of freedom danced in Harry's chest and on his tongue. "Does that mean I can come live with you now? Like we planned?" He wanted to shout, he was so happy. He gripped Hermione's hand and squeezed.

She squeezed back, her support _of_ him and happiness _for_ him rushing up his arm like all the best feelings in the world. "Oh, Harry. That would be wonderful! Not to have to go back to—"

"Them!" Sirius was grinning as well. Harry drank in the sight of him. In the past month, Sirius had been with healers and tailors and the goblins at Gringotts and Harry could hardly believe that the man in front of him—well turned out in fine black robes from Twilfitt and Tattings, his hair clean and waving to his shoulders, teeth healthy and white and strong in his face, gray eyes sharp and clear—was the same man who had frightened and angered him in the Shrieking Shack not long ago.

But so it was. It had been Ron and Hermione's familiar who had managed to stop the rat, Pettigrew, from his escape attempt—

" _What? I'm good at catching rats," Ron had said, sneering at his erstwhile pet whilst Crookshanks licked his whiskers and growled at the Animagus._

—and in so doing, they'd changed everything. Pettigrew had been interrogated and tried, being found guilty of murder, of breaking his Secret Keeper's oath, of _conspiracy_ to commit murder. Well, all manner of things. The trial was over, though, and Harry felt as if his world were a thousand percent better.

Headmaster Dumbledore, eyes twinkling with a brittle light, cleared his throat. "Well, we're thrilled, of course, that Sirius is proven innocent, Harry my boy. Of course. But you must return to the Dursleys. The wards, you know," he added in an undertone, smiling as if imparting a bit of good news.

Harry stiffened and he felt Hermione's fingers go cold in his. She wrapped her free hand about his arm and took a breath. He knew she would champion him; she always had. No one was more on his side than Hermione Granger.

"Headmaster, that makes no sense. Sirius is Harry's godfather. I've researched, you know, and I know that in the Wizarding world, that's a _bond_. A sacred one. Sirius Black should be able to be Harry's guardian. The Dursleys are—the worst, sir. The _worst_."

Harry hadn't told her everything, but Hermione was smart. She inferred much he'd hidden in silence. He knew that. Nodding, he held her even more tightly next to him, because he saw a look in the headmaster's eye that meant trouble.

"Miss Granger, you are a credit to your age. Indeed, it is a bond, but there are many details that need sorting. Sirius will have to prepare a home for our Harry, of course, and make sure it's ready for him."

Nothing Sirius had could possibly be worse, Harry knew, than the Dursley home at 4 Privet Drive. "Sir," he said, nodding encouragingly at Sirius, who seemed overwhelmed even as Remus Lupin stood at his side, hand on his shoulder. "A _cave_ with my godfather would be better than that _house_. Please, sir."

Sirius cleared his throat and moved to embrace Harry in a tight hold. Hermione's hands slipped from Harry, but he hardly noticed as he gave himself up to his godfather's healthy, strong presence. "Harry," the man murmured, "he has a point. Let me get affairs settled. Get you a home to come to, right? By next summer, we'll be sorted and I'll make damned sure you won't have to spend another week with Petunia."

It hurt, but Harry took comfort in the promises, too. "Will you come see me?" he asked, hardly daring to hope for an affirmative.

Sirius pulled back, his eyes alight with laughter. "Of course! Wouldn't miss it. Oh, Petunia knows me. We've met. We'll meet again." He tossed a glance at Hermione and stepped back. Hermione immediately reclaimed Harry's hand and Sirius grinned mischievously before saying, "All of us will, I think, eh, Miss Granger?"

"I always stand by Harry, sir," she said, her voice strong and presence warm beside him.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders for a moment. "She's the best, Sirius. Can she come visit as well? When you do?" Having Hermione with him would be brilliant, but neither of them could use magic outside of school and Harry didn't entirely trust that Hermione would be safe with the Dursleys.

"We'll make it happen, Harry. I swear it!"

Dumbledore stood to one side and took it all in, silent but resolved. He'd gained his purpose, but it seemed that his victory would be temporary.

 **. . . .**

 _ **31 March 1996**_

"I can't get it Harry. It's so frustrating!" Hermione was all but pulling at her hair as she and Harry sat in Gryffindor common room. "I've been practicing, so I can help you tomorrow."

Harry smiled, feeling a bit smug—he was only human—and also sympathetic. "Just because you're—what did Remus call you? The brightest witch of your age?—doesn't mean you have to get each spell right off, Hermione. It's okay. We'll—I'll—still be able to teach it tomorrow."

She bit her lip and her eyebrows shot up and down as she held some sort of internal conversation with herself. Harry waited it out; Hermione was marshaling her thoughts, lining them up in orderly rows that would make sense when they made it out of her mouth.

Her mouth . . . He found his gaze lingering on it just a bit as she worked out whatever was bothering her. Maybe she just had to come to terms with not being able to do something. That wouldn't be easy, but he'd support her no matter what. Just as she supported him. But just at the moment, _supporting_ her was not uppermost in his thoughts. A strange question bolted through his mind:

 _She's not crying; I bet it wouldn't be wet if I kissed her. If we kissed. If Hermione kissed me._

"So what do you think, Harry? Will you? Please?"

Harry had no idea what she'd asked, but he answered without thinking. "Of course, Hermione. Whatever you need."

"Oh, thank you!" She pushed herself up from the sofa and was all but bouncing on her toes. "So! To the Room? Should we go there?" With a twist of her lips, she cocked her head. "No one will be there right now, I don't think."

Standing because she did, Harry still had no idea as to what they were going to the Room of Requirement for. "I don't reckon so. What are we doing again?" His skin heated as he realized he'd been staring at her and she hadn't noticed. Merlin, what was the matter with him?

Hermione approached him, taking a stride to stand close enough that he could see the golden flecks in her eyes. "Are you all right, Harry? Ron's said that you've had problems sleeping this year. Do you need to take a kip just now? My little, er, Patronus Tutorial can wait."

Oh, was that what he'd agreed to? _Right. Perfectly reasonable._ Harry shook his head but made sure to smile for his friend. "I'm fine, really. Ready for the tutorial. Though, you know, it really is okay if you can't get it before tomorrow. Not everyone can cast a Patronus Charm. Lupin told me that and I'm telling you."

"Come on, then," she said in counter, moving past him toward the portrait portal. She was relieved when he followed without more discussion. In truth, she was embarrassed that this, out of all the spells she'd learnt in her time at Hogwarts, was the hardest ever and Harry had mastered it when they'd been in their _third_ _year_.

He was a powerful wizard, though, and she supposed she shouldn't take exception to not being able to be on his level every single time.

They chatted about inconsequentials all the way up to the seventh floor, where they didn't even have to search out Barnaby's portrait any more. They knew where they were going without these visual clues.

 _I need a place to learn and practice casting a Patronus_ , she thought sincerely, pacing rapidly in front of the wall that would open for them. An iron-laced wooden door materialized next to her and she smiled in triumph. Magic. It was still amazing.

Harry pushed past her to open the door first. "Dunno what you've got waiting for us!" he teased, making an exaggerated study of the room.

It was smaller than it often was for the D.A. meetings—about the size of the DADA room, but with a much higher ceiling. "Will it do?" Hermione asked, sounding a bit smug. It was a quality of hers that was not endearing, but he usually couldn't argue with it, as she had proven right even against his own judgment far too often. "I didn't imagine we'd need it too large tonight."

"Looks great, as you well know," he said. "All right," he continued, moving to the center of the stone floor. "Show me what you've got, Miss Granger."

All feelings of self-satisfaction melted away as she withdrew her wand from a pocket. "All right, then." She turned to face the northern wall, pointed her wand, and called, " _Expecto Patronum_!" She grimaced, feeling really horrid as a mere ball of light flickered out from the tip of her wand. "See?"

Harry, the git, just laughed. "Hermione, that's wonderful! You got something, anyway, yeah?" He studied her for a moment and then pushed his glasses up his nose and stiffened his shoulders. That made her nervous, but she had privately promised herself to obey him however he instructed her, because he was clearly the expert in this particular lesson. Harry had always been more gifted in Defense than she was, by virtue of sheer power. "C'mere," he said, beckoning with his wand hand. "What you might need to do is work on your breathing and presentation."

"My what?"

He chuckled, his ears going a bit red at their rims. "Your breathing and presentation. What I want you to do is get behind me, like so," he directed, moving and using one hand to nudge her to his back. "Good. Now," he went on, "watch how I'm pointing my arm and hand, see?"

"Straight out, but, oh! Your hand is overt, not inverted."

"Er, right." She heard him gulp in a breath. "Now, put your arm around me. Either one, so that you can feel how I breathe and speak. On my chest," he clarified when she hesitated.

"Right." She did as he instructed, wrapping her left arm around him, her hand over his heart. It started thumping away very fast at that moment and she almost asked him if he were quite all right, but she refrained because her own heart wasn't behaving, either. "Like, like this?"

He nodded, his hair brushing her face. "Exactly. Now feel my breath and voice, Hermione, all right?"

"Sure, Harry."

He inhaled deeply; she could feel his ribcage expand against her forearm. His voice vibrated, almost buzzing into her flesh when he said, " _Expecto Patronum_!" His Patronus, Prongs, leapt from his wand into the room, alight with magic and all good feelings.

"Oh, he's so beautiful, Harry."

"Handsome. He's _handsome_."

She laughed self-consciously. "Handsome, then. What memory do you use, if I may ask?"

Turning, he was holding her hand that had been on his chest before. He smiled into her eyes and she could see the joy of the memory reflected in their bright green depths. "The moment Sirius opened the door of the new house and said, 'Welcome home, Harry.' That's what I remember. It was better than flying the first time, that feeling."

Her throat felt clogged. "That's a wonderful memory."

"What's yours?"

She glanced away from him, for he felt very close all of a sudden and she liked that feeling too much to move away from it, but her stomach was unexpectedly jittery as well. "When I discovered I was a witch, when Professor McGonagall made her home visit to me and my parents. It was a sunny afternoon, and there this woman was, dressed like someone from the 1960's, you know? But she looked right at me and—"

"You're rambling." He squeezed her hand, the one he was still holding, and she glanced up at his face once more. "I get it, you know. You need a new memory."

"I do?"

Her breath came fast as he got that look in his eye—the look he got when he'd figured something out and was going to try a challenging task. The look that had been there before the Third Task, as well. "Yeah." Then, he leaned forward and she knew exactly what he was going to do, all at once.

He closed his eyes, but she kept hers open, not wanting to hit his glasses inadvertently. The touch of his lips against hers was surprising both in the jolt of pleasure that went through her chest as well as how madly perfect it felt. He only lingered for a moment before resting his forehead against her own and she trembled with a terrible fear. "Harry?"

He still hadn't opened his eyes. "Yeah? Was that, was that okay?"

"Did you just try to give me a better memory or something or was that—"

"Er, no. I mean, if I did, then great, but no." Then, he looked at her and she could feel his sincerity all the way to her center, which was unnerving. "I've been thinking about that for a bit, actually."

"Oh."

"But now that you bring it up, would it?"

She cocked a brow, but that didn't work too well as their foreheads were still touching, albeit carefully. "I don't know, Harry. You'll have to try harder."

He laughed, right there, the warmth of his breath brushing her cheek as he moved a little. "Will I? Well, let's see if I can help there, Miss Granger." With a very deliberate glint in his eye, he removed his glasses and tucked them in a pocket. She reminded herself to retrieve them so he didn't break them, later. Then, she didn't think of much at all as Harry James Potter, her best friend in the world, wrapped both arms around her and snogged her until she couldn't breathe anymore.

Neither could he, apparently, when he eased her out of his embrace and stood behind her, one arm around her ribs and one hand smoothing down her right arm. "Try again," he whispered over her ear, making her shiver. He pressed his hand just under her breasts, close enough that he wasn't touching them but that she thought maybe she wanted him to, which was pleasantly embarrassing. "Feel my hand _here_ and speak firmly enough to move it. And don't forget the wand motion."

Nodding, she set herself to ignoring the fact that Harry hadn't released her. Indeed, it seemed that he might have moved a bit nearer. Because _that_ wasn't distracting at all. _Focus, Hermione_ , she admonished herself. _Focus_. " _Expecto Patronum_!"

"Hermione!"

She barely heard him say her name because she was in shock. "It's a bear," she whispered. "A bear."

"A fully corporeal Patronus, too," Harry said, both arms around her now and his chin on her shoulder. "Look at him."

Her heart was pounding and, this time, it was due to the large beastie that had erupted from her wand. "Concave between eyes and nose. Doesn't look too ferocious, does he?"

"I bet he'd terrify a Dementor."

She laughed softly and the bear rose up on its hind legs and stretched its snout into the air before running toward the wall and vanishing. "Oh, Harry. He was beautiful."

"Handsome!"

She turned in his embrace and settled her arms around his shoulders. "My Patronus and I say _beautiful_. Perhaps my bear is female." She quirked a smile at him. "You're a very good teacher."

"You're the top student at Hogwarts."

Later—much later—she was able to find pictures of the various bears, and came to the conclusion that her bear was a brown bear, common in many parts of the world. The black bear was a hunter, but it had a different snout. _Her_ bear liked fruits and fish, and was a good mother. She also discovered that the bear was a Native American totem animal, and the _Magic Legends of North America_ stated that it symbolized "Industry, instinct, healing, power, sovereignty, guardian of the world, watcher, courage, will power, self-preservation, introspection, and great strength."

Ron heard her recitation at the D.A. the following night and snorted. "But does it keep a color coded study planner on hand, is what I want to know!"

Feeling buoyant, still, at her success in summoning a Patronus, Hermione merely rolled her eyes. "Only in the spring, Ronald."

Ron pretended to be frightened. "Run, Harry. Run away!"

Harry pulled Hermione next to him and nuzzled her hair, right there in front of the entire D.A. "Not on my agenda, Ron," he said. "I need her," he whispered next, just so she could hear him.

Her heart soared.

And it was the last good thing she felt for quite some time, for Dobby appeared just then and informed them Umbridge was on the way.

 **. . . .**

 _ **18 June 1996**_

It was madness, all of it. The whole night seemed shot through with bright curses reflected through broken glass. Screams. Epithets. Threats and promises of death echoed off every flat surface that survived the carnage.

They'd been separated, too, so only Harry and Neville were with Hermione in the Time Chamber. "Time-Turners," she whispered. "I thought they—"

"Look out!"

"Shite!" The three of them stumbled over each other, falling heavily to the stone floor.

There at the Ministry only because Harry needed her—needed all of them—Hermione was locked in the chaos of the Ministry of Magic's Time Chamber. Death Eaters shot curses from their wands and all of her own defensive knowledge was strained.

She had to protect Harry! The Death Eaters kept spouting hexes and she was terrified they'd let free with an Unforgivable, so she cast a Silencing Charm toward one of them and turned to see if the other was attacking.

He was! The metallic mask concealed the man's identity but then Neville cast toward him in a powerful sweep of magic that Hermione could almost see.

"Did you think to save Black, Potter?" the unidentified man asked in a rasping voice as his mask fell off.

Harry seemed to panic, rolling up on the balls of his feet and looking this way and that. "Sirius!"

The Death Eater's shield protected him and Hermione felt even more desperate. "Harry! Go! You have to make sure Sirius is safe!" she shouted. "And find the others!"

"Hermione!" The look he directed at her flared with fear and desperation.

"Go!" She pushed him toward the door and stood between him and the Death Eater as Neville dashed to her side. "Give him a minute and then we follow," she told Neville.

"Right! _Stupefy_!"

He missed and a wand flared with a horrible purple as the Death Eater screamed something she'd never heard before.

"Neville!" she shouted as he leapt in front of her. "Neville, no!" _Protego! Protego!_ she cast silently, pushing the force of the shield out, _out_ , to stop the new purple curse that bladed toward her.

It wasn't enough, though, and her last thought was filled with despair as the dark curse cut through her shielding. _Harry, did you get to Sirius in time? Was this all for nothing?_

"Harry . . ."

Pain cut through her, a pain so fierce and hot that she managed to take only one sharp breath before she knew no more.

* * *

"Sirius. I thought you'd died!" Harry sobbed into his godfather's lapels, feeling utterly shattered.

Long arms encircled him and his godfather's deep voice penetrated through his relief and the competing devastation he was feeling that he'd been lured into a trap. Hermione had known, hadn't she? "Got too much to do, pup, to die that easily. We can talk about all of this," he said, leaning back and studying Harry with stern concern, "after you've rested. Merlin, pup, you must have flown all the way from school."

Harry nodded, glancing about to avoid Sirius's too-worried look. Aurors were milling about, asking questions, taking notes. Lupin had seen to the rest getting back to Hogwarts, but Harry hadn't managed to tear himself away from Sirius's side. "It was a nightmare."

Sirius chuckled a bit and pulled him close for another hug before disentangling himself. "I'm sure. Come. Let's get you back to school, now. We've got all summer, don't we?"

He nodded, breathing in and out and taking in the wreck of the Ministry. "Wait, where's Hermione?"

"Don't know, lad. Come on, I'm sure Remus got her back to school."

Dread washed over Harry's skin anew, making him a little ill. "No, she would have waited. Waited for me. She always—"

Sirius ruffled his hair a bit whilst guiding him firmly from the tiled room with the broken glass, smears of blood, and pieces of broken wands. Harry barely noticed until his godfather asked, "She's a good girl, your Hermione?"

He could see her as if she were standing in front of him. "The best, Sirius. So smart, and she knew this was a trap. I—I didn't listen to her though."

With a sigh, Sirius draped an arm over his shoulders. "Maybe you should, next time. Is your girlfriend the type to say, 'I told you so'?"

Harry blushed. "Yeah." But then, she'd kiss his cheek and put her hand over his heart the way she'd taken to doing lately in lieu of public displays of affection. Hermione was a private person in that way.

Sirius snorted; an incongruous sound given the circumstances. "Let's get on with it then. The pair of you will feel better." They both heaved a breath, met one another's eyes, smiled sheepishly, and paced in sync. Sirius moved as if determined not to be distracted by the wreck and ruin around them. Harry tried to imitate his godfather, but guilt dogged his every step. How could he not feel responsible? The electric after-sense of powerful magic still tingled in the air around them—how many had been hurt because of his inability to see the trap? Candles and bluebell lights illuminated rooms with broken fixtures, a few lost shoes, blood spatters, and he thought he could see astonishment in the magical portraits that followed their progress.

Nymphadora Tonks was waiting in the Atrium. "Wotcher, Harry. Lupin told me to wait for ya. C'mon then, I'll get you back to Hogwarts." She offered him a thin smile under uncharacteristically sober black hair. "He said you might want to hurry a bit, Remus did."

Harry's heart thumped in his chest and his mouth went dry in fear. "What—?"

Auror Tonks caught Sirius's eye. "It's about his friends, Cousin. He should get back."

"Ron?"

"Let's go, Harry," Sirius suggested, nudging him none too gently toward the Floos. "Nymphadora?"

" _Tonks_ , damn you, Sirius. I _hate_ that name."

Sirius smiled and Harry reminded himself that his godfather was not dead. That was something. Something important.

They emerged from the Floo in the Headmaster's Office. Dumbledore was there, Fawkes perched on his shoulder, drooping a bit. "Harry," the old wizard said. "I'm glad you made it."

"What happened, sir?"

"Lemon Drop? Perhaps a Calming Draught?"

Harry felt terror well up in him again. "Tell me!" he demanded, shoving himself from Sirius's protective arm. "What happened?"

"It was Mr. Longbottom and Miss Granger, lad. Hermione was hit by, well, we don't even know what it was, to be honest. But we couldn't heal her. We had to send for her parents. And Neville, well, we couldn't heal him either."

Harry felt dizzy; a sound like water rushing over his head and through his ears suffused his entire awareness. Swaying, he fell against the Headmaster's desk and gripped its worn corner hard. "No. No. No, no, no, no. It can't be. Not _her_. She didn't even want—"

"Harry, oh, Merlin, lad." Sirius caught him before he fell, wrapping his arms about him again that night. Harry didn't hear anything his godfather was saying to Dumbledore, though. He just heard the pushing sound of his own heart trying to beat out of his body to find . . .

To find Hermione. A thousand memories filled his thoughts. The way she'd practically hopped in her seat to answer questions. The devastation in her eyes when Malfoy'd hit her with that Densaugeo Curse. How earnest she'd been in defense of him so many times. The way she'd looked at the Yule Ball, with the pretty blue dress and shy smile for him. And the hugs. So many of them. From a little girl and then a young woman, and _Merlin_ , he'd been glad for school robes this past year.

And when he'd kissed her in the Room of Requirement, she had rocked his world. Entirely. Just before everything seemed to spiral out of control.

Sirius pushed a phial of something toward his lips and, angry, Harry grabbed it and swallowed. A soothing sort of warmth pervaded his chest and he was able to breathe without crying, look around without flinching, and hear the words of others without hearing the imagined cry his girlfriend might have made when she was killed.

"Come, lad. Let's get you back to the Tower."

Headmaster Dumbledore halted their exit, though. "Harry, lad. I know this has been a shock, but—"

"Not now, Albus," Sirius said, his voice stiff and unyielding. "Not. Now. Let us pass."

In Gryffindor Tower, the common room was deathly still when Harry and Sirius entered. No one met Harry's eye, no one hindered him or tried to speak as he stood at the bottom of the stairs that led to the girls' dormitories.

Lavender appeared, her eyes red-rimmed. "Oh, Harry," she whispered. "She's, she's gone. Her parents took her things, as well. She—"

Sirius held up a hand. "We know. Thank you, Miss, er . . ."

"Brown. Lavender Brown."

"Thanks, Lavender," Harry whispered. He turned and, accompanied by Sirius, trudged up to his own dorm room.

He didn't know that, as he and his godfather sorted through his gear, Hermione Granger was being treated in London, at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

No one but the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall knew she had survived.


	2. Secedo

_**A/N:** Thank you so much, everyone, for joining me in this AU. As always, thanks to **Katmom** for being patient and for her excellent remarks in the margin of the Doc. Many of you have questions, and I hope to answer them in this and subsequent chapters. If you're not seeing answers, please ask me privately in a review or PM. But if you're not writing from an account that is accepting PMs, I can't answer you!_

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 _ **Summer, 1996**_

The memorial service for Neville and Hermione had been devastating. Harry had tried to speak to everyone, but his voice failed him. He'd been reduced to gripping the podium in front of all the mourners, choking on his own sobs. Ron had stood by him, getting him back to his seat as soon as possible.

Lady Longbottom didn't demand Harry stay away, but she refused to speak to him before or after the ceremony.

Hermione's parents weren't even there. They returned any letter he sent, Muggle or magical, without having opened it. His other friends had surrounded him, supporting him in his private grief while bearing their own. Neville had been awkward, but a Gryffindor through and through, unafraid to face the Dark. Hermione—there weren't words. Every morning, he woke up and felt his heart break all over again.

"Harry . . ." Sirius had sat with him that first night back home. They didn't live in Grimmauld Place, but instead had taken over one of the Black properties, Farecliffe, in Derbyshire. The memorial service at Hogwarts had been that morning. "Poppy gave me some Dreamless Sleep for you, if you want it for tonight. Not for more than tonight, mind," he added with a firm hand on Harry's shoulder. "But if you need it tonight, that is perfectly fine."

Harry had been sitting, propped up against his headboard. "No. It won't help. She's, she's gone, Sirius, and her parents won't even—" All the words he wanted to say stuck in his throat. The words to Hermione's parents, to Lady Longbottom, to all those who had been injured at the battle. "It was all for nothing," he rasped. "Nothing. You weren't even there, just like she said."

"But she supported you, Harry. She—" Sirius grimaced, closing his eyes against a dark memory. "She must have cared a lot about you."

"And I don't even know why she died, Sirius! I don't know what they wanted! Why I had to be there!" Harry could feel a sudden, violent fury tighten his arms and he hit his mattress with his fists. "I need to know. I have to stop this, Sirius. I have to. I can't—I can't let anyone else die without knowing what the bloody hell is going on!"

" _Lumos_ ," Sirius whispered before studying his godson's face for several moments. "I happen to agree with you. So does Remus. I know Molly would have you ignorant, thinking that means _safe_ , but she has to know that's not the case."

"Merlin, no." Harry wiped at a tear. "I need him to tell me everything, Sirius. I swear, I'm going mad. I can't—I can't do this. I can't be this Chosen One or anything when I don't have a bloody clue as to what I'm expected to do. I'm not some sort of . . . of gun or something!"

"What?" Sirius endeavored to calm him, running a hand through the young man's hair as if he were a lad and not a tried warrior. "Sorry," he said with a rueful half-smile when Harry just stared at him. "I meant, what did you mean by being a gun?"

Harry blinked in the light from the wand. "A gun? You know, Sirius. A metal weapon that—"

"I know what a gun _is_ , Harry. I'm not an idiot. I just meant how you see yourself like that."

With a great sigh, Harry felt himself relax. It was odd, but talking about it with Sirius helped and he really needed help that night. "I feel like I'm being loaded, ready to be pointed at a target and fired, you know? But I'm not being told why or how, really. I need to know. Or I'll just—just quit." The idea of hunting down Hermione's parents had been hiding in the back of his mind for days. They were Muggles, but he'd spent a lot of years with the Muggles and knew how computers worked and so on. They were dentists. Dentists had professional organizations or lists or registries to get their licenses, didn't they? He could find out. And he could find them and talk to them. He'd take their scorn, their anger; he deserved it. But the silence was like being _shut away_ and Harry would not tolerate that kind of isolation again.

Sirius took a deep breath and shifted off the bed before conjuring a chair. It looked like the one in the foyer, basic dark wood with a Gryffindor-red cushion. "Quit, lad? Where would you go?"

"Somewhere where no one knows Harry Potter," he responded, with not a little bitterness.

"You won't be of age for another year."

"So come with me. You and Remus. We can take a world tour or something. I've taken my O.W.L.s." The idea was fast growing on him, making his heart beat with something other than sorrow for the first time in days. "We could do that, Sirius! Between you and Remus, you could teach me everything I need to know, right?"

Sirius had to laugh a little. "And how do you think that?"

"Hermione—" Even saying her name hurt a little, but he persevered. "Hermione looked up your test scores. I think she was trying to get me to ignore you by proving something." It was a bit embarrassing to admit to, but Harry saw no purpose in lying. "And she was so surprised to find you'd passed so many O.W.L.s." The memory of Hermione's face, with that look in her eye and her eyebrows moving so fast, up and down in the way they had, would stay with him. He smiled. "She respected you a lot more after that."

Sirius crossed his legs, managing to look very much like Lord Black, Harry thought, even though he was shirtless, barefoot, and wearing a pair of silk boxers. "I'm glad she didn't find me to be entirely reprobate. She was a fine girl, Harry. Truly."

His prior excitement at even the possibility of getting away from it all dissipated into cold sorrow. "Yeah. She was." He leaned forward. "Help me, Sirius?"

That plucked at the older man's heart in almost a tangible manner, an ache that pulled as if James himself were there to do it. "Help you what, son?"

"Help me end it. End Voldemort. Tell me what I need to know so I can take this fight to him and end it all."

The voice of a girl, a younger Hermione Granger, echoed in Sirius's ear. " _Sirius is Harry's godfather. I've researched, you know, and I know that in the Wizarding world, that's a bond. A_ sacred _one. Sirius Black should be able to be Harry's guardian…_ "

Perhaps it was that, that _sanctity_ that tugged at him. That made him nod and lean forward to grip Harry's hand in his own. "All right, son. I will."

* * *

Minerva McGonagall tossed the parchment on Albus Dumbledore's cluttered desk. Gadgets, quills, seals, and some odd devices with sands and what appeared to be metronomes were dispersed throughout the clutter. "She's trying to get a letter to him. I told you she would, as soon as she was able. This was directed to me—though why, I do _not_ know—perhaps because I am Harry's Head of House. I should have brought it to him, but, I am hoping, Albus, you have a good answer for me!"

Albus eyed her from under thick white brows before leaning back and asking, "So Miss Granger survived?"

Fury and confusion combined in Minerva's midsection. "Of course she survived, you beast! I cannot believe you've let _everyone think she died_!" Her accent grew thick with her escalating ire.

"She was distracting him, Minerva. I couldn't let him be directed on another path, or having a different set of priorities." When his deputy's wand started sparking, Albus held up one hand. "When he's fulfilled the prophecy, I'll apologize for everything. I'll even go find Miss Granger and apologize to her. Though it wasn't my fault she was so wounded, remember."

"Do not take this there, Albus," Minerva said, her voice grinding like gravel under her boot heel. "She's confused, frightened, and in a great deal of pain. And this hasn't been the first time."

"I wasn't even here, Minerva."

She inhaled sharply through her nose. "No, I know that. But. Her parents trusted you. Trusted me, Albus. Trusted me to keep her safe." She felt her eyes burn and only her stiff Scots pride kept the tears from falling. "Remus Lupin called her the brightest witch of her age, you know. And he wasn't wrong. And now, now she's been taken from us and I sincerely doubt England will see her again."

"But she's alive, Minerva. If she had been here, Tom would have had her on his short list of Muggle-borns that needed to go. You know that." The Headmaster's voice was conciliatory; he knew how to play the scene. "Our spy has reported that she's been spoken of. They have information about her; about Harry Potter's intelligent girlfriend and how much she's aided him over the years. How he relies on her."

He couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice at that last, and Minerva pounced like the predator her Animagus form identified her as being. "That's why you let her parents take her, isn't it? Why you let them know what had happened this time, though you never even informed them when she was petrified in her second year. Albus! How could you! She's only a child; there is no way she could possibly—"

"Oh, there is every way!" Albus shot to his feet and leaned over his desk, fists firmly planted there as if he had grown decades younger for a brief moment. "All I have been working toward for almost twenty years, Minerva, could have been ruined by her relationship with Harry. Any deviation from the plan could have lasting, horrible consequences for all of us." He inhaled and endeavored to calm himself. Smoothing his beard, he blew out a breath. "I grant you, it's a painful thing. But Harry knows we're at war, he knows life is uncertain. If anything, he'll fight harder, now."

"I can't believe you! I'm—I'm going on holiday!"

She marched out of his office, leaving Miss Granger's letter on his desk where his deputy had thrown it when she'd entered. The letter bore every sign of going through the Muggle mail system before it was intercepted in England. It was weeks old.

 _3 July 1996_

 _Dear Harry,_

 _First, please let me tell you how sorry I was to hear about Sirius. He was a good man, and he loved you very much. I am so glad we were able to save his life that time. My parents told me he—that he was taken down at the battle. I can't tell you how much I cried to hear it._

 _How are you? Please write and tell me. I feel all at sixes and sevens, here._

 _I was injured, as you know. Please do not blame yourself, Harry. It was not a good night for any of us. I have promised to stand by you, even if only to save you from yourself, remember? I won't have you beating yourself up over this. So, I was injured and I don't remember anything except waking up from a stasis spell in Salem, Massachusetts. Yes, I'm in the States. My parents were, of course, rightly concerned about the danger we were all in, as Muggles and a Muggle-born witch, so they asked the Headmaster to help them in relocating, they told me._

 _My address is below. Please, Harry, write and tell me how you are. I miss you dreadfully and can't wait until I can see you again. I'll give this to my healer and hope it makes it to you._

 _I know we never said it, but you have to know I love you._

 _Hermione_

Albus Dumbledore tossed the letter into the air, setting it on fire with a bitter " _Incendio_!" There weren't even ashes left to fall to the floor. He immediately fired up the Floo to Gringotts. He had a mail ward to establish.

* * *

 _ **20 July 1996**_

"I have every right to know!" Harry shouted over the arguments that filled 12 Grimmauld Place during the Order of the Phoenix meeting. The instant silence that greeted his remark was accented by gaping mouths and incredulous eyebrows. He huffed out a breath. "I do," he insisted much more quietly. "No, Mrs. Weasley, I know you mean well," he said, trying to smile. "I know. But those were _my_ initials on that prophecy. My mind that was invaded by Voldemort." He rolled his eyes at the inevitable gasps that came after he said the name. "My _family_ that was threatened. My friend that was _killed_ buying me time to get to Sirius. My, my _Hermione_ that was taken from me." His chest was tight as he said these last, but he had practiced in front of a mirror earlier and did not let even the tiniest tear show.

His godfather moved to stand beside him, throwing a strong arm around his shoulders. "He's right. He has a right to know all of it. He's the one that'll be on the sparking end of the wand, if Albus is correct. He has a right to know." Taking a breath, he met Harry's firm gaze and nodded. "And I'll tell you, right here and now, Albus, if you don't tell us everything, me and Harry, we'll leave England and prepare our own way."

"I've passed my O.W.L.s; I can go any time." Harry swept his gaze around the crowded room, seeing encouragement from Fred and George, a grim determination from Ron, and fury on Mrs. Weasley's face. Curiously, Snape's expression was impassive, but his eyes seemed to burn blackly.

"Mister Potter!" The Headmaster's voice thundered through the room, echoing off the paneled walls and even in the fireplace, Harry thought. "You cannot leave England!"

"Sure he can, Albus," Sirius said, his voice casual though his wand was in his tight grip. "I'm Lord Black and he's my ward. If you won't help him prepare to fight You Know Who, we'll find some others who will."

Another argument erupted, but Sirius and Harry moved back to lean against the overwrought mantle. "I'm right here, son. Don't you worry. We'll make this happen."

Trepidation warred with relief in Harry's eyes. "Thanks, Da—Sirius."

Sirius grinned at him. "What? Was that the word _Dad_ I almost heard?" Harry blushed and turned away, studying the Order members and hearing snippets of varied opinions. The voices were largely familiar by now, but he desperately missed one. One who would have championed him every step of the way, who had been there for him _before_ Sirius had.

He missed Hermione and he was afraid the ache in his chest would never go away.

* * *

 _31 July 1996_

 _Harry,_

 _How are you? I'm so worried. No one will tell me anything, now. It's as if my parents cursed my healers with a Silencio or something. Did you get my last two letters? Do you_ _hate_ _me? I mean, I tried. I heard that Neville didn't make it and I cried when the healers told me I was so lucky. "Merlin's Beard, girl," Healer Holcomb has said more than once. "You're lucky to have survived this one. We still haven't figured out what it was."_

 _It was bad, but it's not keeping me from studying! The teachers at Ilvermony School have worked out a study program with the ICW so that I may study for my N.E.W.T.s. After all, I'm stuck in bed and can't do any magic for a while, so I might at least study theory._

 _My parents are being difficult and insisting that, when I'm able, I go sit for my A-Levels, or the Advanced Placement exams, they call them here. So I'll be studying for those as well._

 _Harry James Potter, I miss you. I don't know if you're just too upset or in mourning and aren't answering your mail or what. But if you do get this, please write back. I included my phone number on the bottom, too. Just try to sound American and say you're from the College Board, all right? Practice, now!_

 _Love,_

 _Your Hermione_

 _P.S. Happy birthday, Harry._

* * *

 _ **Autumn, 1996**_

"I'm not looking in that, that pensive thing—"

"Pen _sieve_ , Harry."

"Pensieve, then, without Sirius." Harry did not quite meet Headmaster Dumbledore's deep gaze—Sirius and Remus both had warned him about that—but he shot him a quick look before directing his focus to the Pensieve once again. Something had seemed off with the Headmaster since the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries. Harry's own guilt had kept him from exploring the feeling further, but he still didn't feel that he quite trusted Dumbledore with the same openness he had before.

So, in the cluttered office, he tried to relax while maintaining a certain level of vigilance when Dumbledore spoke again. "What if I just tell you what I wanted you to see, my boy? Would that suffice regarding your wish to be informed?"

Ignoring the dig, Harry nodded, wiping his hands on his thighs as he shifted in the velvet upholstered chair. The Headmaster smiled benignly, coming around to sit across from him in an ancient chair with deep carvings. "Well then. Fine. Lemon drop?"

"No, thank you, sir."

"All right. What I'm going to tell you, Harry, is to be kept a secret. You may tell Ron, of course; I know he is your closest friend. A staunch ally, no?"

"Yes, sir. He is."

"Fine, then. And of course you may tell Sirius, as he's your guardian. So. The grave danger we are facing, Harry, is with the man who calls himself Lord Voldemort. However, that is not his real name."

Harry began listening, guarding himself lest he become focused on Dumbledore's eyes and therefore be made vulnerable, but as the Headmaster's tale wound on, he forgot. Instead, he was caught up in the story of a boy named Tom Riddle, who had been orphaned and left in an institution instead of with family. How this boy grew in power and charisma, and the hopes that Albus Dumbledore had seen die when young Tom went on his own ways.

"One of the most puzzling things, Harry, is that Tom was not a pureblood. He was a half-blood, as his mother was from the Most Noble and Ancient House of Gaunt and his father was a Muggle fellow. It is against his own blood, truly, that Tom strove."

"So, he hated himself, then?"

"That's it precisely!" Dumbledore seemed quite pleased at Harry's pronouncement.

* * *

 _25 December 1996_

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I don't know what I did to make you ignore me, but I'm sorry for whatever it was. It's hard, here, not having you and Ron with me. I am studying for my N.E.W.T.s and am now able to practice my magic again (do not go off sulking about that) and hope to soon be able to leave the house._

 _My parents haven't wanted me to, you see. They've been quite over-protective. I get it, though, so I'm humoring them, though I am seventeen, now._

 _I miss you, Harry. And I love you. Happy Christmas._

 _~Hermione_

* * *

 _ **1 February 1997**_

"I really think I should practice with one," Harry told Sirius and Remus. "You know, in preparation for my N.E.W.T.s"

Remus kicked the cupboard door in the Staff Lounge and they all heard the disgruntled rattling within. "I get it, Harry. I do. I'm just concerned about your well-being, understand. Remember, I've seen you when they're about; it's not something you want on the front page, right?"

Sirius bristled. "Remus! We're trying to prepare him, not mollycoddle him."

"That word takes on a whole new meaning when you know the Weasleys, Padfoot."

Even Harry rolled his eyes at that, before tapping his wand impatiently against his thigh. It was a Saturday morning and there was a Quidditch match later and he and Ron were going to watch, so as to best prepare to face Slytherin themselves. "C'mon guys. Please? If I'm not going to be able to do this, I need to know now."

Remus crossed the room and settled a warm hand on Harry's shoulder. "You've been casting your Patronus since third year, Harry. What's your concern?"

The ache was still sharp, though it had been most of a year since she'd died. "Whenever I try, Moony, I remember that I taught Hermione how to cast hers, you know? And it hurts and I can't seem to latch on to my own happiest memory."

Sirius let out a sigh. "You don't want to hear it again, but I'm going to say it anyway. You have to move past this, Harry. It's a weakness."

"She will never be a weakness!" Harry pushed himself away from both his godfather and his honorary uncle. "Not her. Not ever."

"Then your emotions will be, lad. Come now, don't tell me you don't know this." Sirius sent a silent plea to Remus, who nodded.

"Best to learn now, then, before you meet a real one." With a sharp flick of his wrist, he opened the cabinet where the boggart hid. Privately, he wondered if Harry would still _have_ a Dementor as a boggart. The death of Hermione Granger had hit him hard, even though he hadn't seen it happen. He was actually relieved to see the spectral black thing come floating into the middle of the Staff Lounge, to hover near Harry.

The boy—young _man_ , dammit—went pale, his hand trembling visibly as the boggart loomed even larger. Extending his wand, he pointed it at the boggart. " _Expecto Patronum_!" Harry stood, still as a block of ice, as mist flew from his wand and coalesced. "Ahh…" he said on a grateful breath. "Hello, Prongs." He smiled ruefully. "Sorry. It's been a while, yeah?"

The silvery stag pawed the floor and tossed his mighty head as if in answer before he turned and ran through the nearest wall. He seemed to know that the Dementor wasn't real.

"Well, that's a relief." Inhaling deeply, Harry told himself that this was entirely positive. "So I guess the next thing I need to do is—"

"Keep your appointment with me?" Dumbledore appeared at the door to the Staff Lounge and Harry nodded. The Headmaster offered thoughtful looks to Sirius and Remus. "Perhaps you might join us?"

Horcruxes, Albus decided, should not be faced alone. Not even in a Pensieve.

* * *

 _4 February 1997_

 _Dear Professor McGonagall,_

 _I hope your new year has been a good one, and that Harry and Ron aren't giving you too much trouble. Though, I daresay, that since you survived the Weasley Twins, no one else can compare._

 _My parents took me to the States to recuperate, but they have said (as I'm sure you're aware) that I shan't be allowed to return to Hogwarts. Not even for my seventh year. So, I hope you will be glad to know that I'm studying for my N.E.W.T.s already and am due to start testing next month. I'm studying with tutors from the Ilvermony School. As with Durmstrang, the school is unplottable, so the professors and adjuncts are kind enough to come to me._

 _Please accept my apologies for what I'm about to ask, but have you seen Harry? Is he all right? I've written him ever so many letters, but he's not responded to any of them and I didn't know if he had returned to Hogwarts or if the Dursleys had done something horrid and no one's told me. I've had no access to anything Wizarding outside of my own home so I don't know if something awful has happened. I tried writing letters Muggle-fashion and Wizarding-fashion. I've sent letters to Ron, Ginny, and Luna Lovegood. Even Fred and George Weasley! But I've not heard anything from anyone and, Professor McGonagall, I'm not sure what to do._

 _If you see him, would you ask him to write me? Or at the very least, send a message through you that he's well? I've tried everything I can that I know how to do._

 _Thank you so much for taking the time to read this._

 _Respectfully,_

 _Hermione J. Granger_

 **. . . .**

 _ **15 February 1997**_

"What, by Merlin's bloody beard, am I supposed to do with this?" Minerva threw the letter down on Albus's desk, uncaring that she was disrupting whatever it was he was doing. "I can't fathom how she must be feeling, Albus. No contact, nothing from anyone. She clearly doesn't know your _official_ story, you, you haggis."

"Now, now, Minerva. Calling me after a Scottish rustic classic is no more than the truth, for all your vitriol." He smiled mildly before pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "She sounds like she's improving nicely, all recovered from the unfortunate affair at the Ministry."

"Unfortunate affair! I lost one of my own, there! Two, if you count her! This cannot continue!"

"But it must," the Headmaster countered, rising slowly from his chair behind his desk. Resplendent in deep purple robes with gold tassels, he stroked his beard with patent deliberation. "We've been over this, Minerva. It is for her safety, though she's behaving foolishly by introducing herself to the Ilvermony School." He made disappointed clicking sounds and Minerva thought her ears would truly spout steam. "The wards have kept her letters out to date; I'm sorry they failed in this instance. Sorry, too, that you've been made to feel uncomfortable."

"I want to write her back. Just so she knows she's been heard."

"No." He cocked his head and took off his eyeglasses, fixing her with a stare. "No," he said again. "I'm entirely serious here, Minerva. Who knows who is monitoring mail out of here? I'm concerned lest someone unfriendly find out where she is now."

Minerva felt her eyes burn in sheer hopelessness. "I really hope this is worth it, Albus. If anything untoward happens to that girl, you will feel. My. Wrath."

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _Hey, if you didn't know yet, I started a tumblr page for my fanficking weirdness:_ **summerisbittersweet . tumblr . com**. I've already received a piece of gorgeous fan art there from katemaplebranch (if you haven't seen the NEW COVER for Brilliant Magic, click over to check it out!) and I'll be posting previews for chapters for this story, too, likely.


	3. Proditio

_**A/N:** I know, all y'all have your "hate on" for Dumbledore. Just wait. It gets worse. Thanks to everyone who has added this fic to their lists and my most gracious curtsy to all who review! Really, I've been practicing!_

 _Also, a big fist-bump to **Katmom the Amazing**. She helped me sign up here on FFn seven years ago this month and I've so appreciated all her support. She's reading this over - yep, she gets the advance (and messy) copy - and is always awesome._

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

 _ **Summer, 1997**_

"Happy birthday, Harry!"

Farecliffe, the Black estate in Derbyshire, was a veritable carnival of entertainments that appealed to teenaged witches and wizards. Of course, Harry had asked for a Quidditch pitch, and one was permanently installed on the grounds. There were over thirty acres to the property, but Muggle-Repelling Charms had been laced liberally about, just in case. The house itself was very traditional in outer appearances, but there were many modern amenities that Harry was personally thrilled with. Like the indoor pool. And the enormous bedrooms he and Sirius had. Just then, they were in the kitchen, which had white cabinets, black marble countertops, and heavy wooden beams overhead to remind anyone standing under them that this house had been originally built in the 19th Century.

"Thanks, Da- Sirius."

His godfather joined him at the kitchen counter. "You know, _son_ ," he began, with every evidence of being casual, "we could make that happen."

Harry tamped down a bright flare of hope that seemed to be eclipsed by worry. "Make what happen?" he asked, endeavoring to imitate Sirius's stance.

"The whole Dad-Son thing." For Sirius, there was a lot riding on this, and he understood the same held true for Harry. Part of the older wizard turned away from the mere idea of replacing James as Harry's father, even if only by adoption. But most of his inner man reminded him that he had been Harry's guardian longer than James had been Harry's living and breathing father, so he had, in effect, paid his dues. "I could adopt you. I know you've come of age, now, but I could adopt you anyway. Make you my heir, even."

Harry felt his heart thump hard before racing on. "A - adopt me? Really?"

"Really."

A big white space seemed to be in front of Harry's eyes. He didn't know what to do! "I, you, you've taken me by surprise. Erm." Then, there was a strange, odd ache that tightened in his chest and he felt his eyes burn. "Erm. Yeah. I'd like that, Sirius. Dad. If you really mean it." When Sirius whooped and barked out a loud, joyful laugh, Harry laughed with him. When Sirius swooped him up in a firm hug, Harry hugged him back.

And when Sirius murmured, "Love you, Harry," Harry whispered, "I love you, Dad."

Sirius made the announcement to all the guests at the Quidditch pitch, using the Sonorus Charm so that no one would miss it.

* * *

 _ **1 September 1997**_

"And how is Miss Granger this summer?" Albus murmured to his deputy as they sat at the head table, eating lunch in the Great Hall while the Hogwarts Express chugged along toward Hogsmeade.

Minerva flared her nostrils and glared at the Headmaster. "I have no idea. She hasn't written and, according to your ward monitors, she hasn't done so since July."

Albus sipped at his Earl Grey. "This is both a relief and a concern. I wonder if she's trying to get back to England?"

"She should never have been barred!"

"That was at the express wish of her parents, Minerva." He set his cup down with great deliberation. "And I confess, it was a relief to me. Harry's studies have sped up enormously. And with his new family circumstances, he is strong in his heart and mind. In fact," he went on, eyeing his baked potato, "I'm going to have him begin Occlumency. He'll be on a special tutoring program this term, Minerva. Look for his timetable tomorrow morning on your desk."

Minerva's entire aspect heralded her defiance. "I will grant you that Mister Potter is somewhat improved in spirits, Albus, but I cannot think that persuading him that Miss Granger died was the right thing. I cannot and I will not." She cut numerous slices in her baked potato with rather too much energy, but she didn't dare hex the Headmaster. At least, not at lunch.

"Silence!" Albus all but hissed at her. "No one may know, Minerva. No one."

"I have developed," she said, her voice glacial, "a sudden loss of appetite. Pray excuse me. I will see you at the Sorting Feast tonight."

It tore at her heart to remember—as she did every day—that Hermione Granger was in the States, separated from her friends at school, her boyfriend, and all that was Wizarding in England, without being able to contact any of them. It tore at her heart to think of Harry in mourning, as he had been all the year prior, missing Hermione. But her Gryffindors had stepped up. They had. A few girls had tried to cheer the lad up, but he'd had none of them. Minerva had also seen Ronald Weasley try to help, by actually studying more than he had done. That had been a wonder in and of itself.

But it didn't make up for the loss of Miss Granger. Minerva again vowed to do everything she could to find the girl when Harry was out from under Albus's thumb.

* * *

 _ **2 September 1997**_

"Can't believe they didn't at least make you a Prefect," Ron muttered over his bacon the first morning of their seventh year. Long arms reached over and around to collect the rest of his breakfast as he continued to make his commentary. "I mean, I get it. Goldstein as Head Boy, okay."

Harry sighed and poured himself a cup of tea, adding sugar and wondering what he wanted to eat from the choices before him. "Goldstein will make a good Head," he remarked. "And you're our Prefect. I didn't expect to get Prefect, honestly. Dumbledore," he said with a sigh and grimace directed at the head table, "has plans for me this year. And, I've got to get ready. You know that."

Ron clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll be right there with you."

"When you're not ousting lads from the broom cupboards," Harry said with a slanted smile. "Hey, pass the porridge, will you? And don't slide all that bacon to your plate. I want some."

Anthony Goldstein approached, his school robes accented with the Hogwarts Head Boy badge. He caught Harry's eye and lifted a brow as if in silent query.

"Congratulations, Goldstein!" Though the other boy was a Ravenclaw, he'd been in the D.A. and had been a staunch supporter, there.

"Oi! Good on ya, getting Head!" Ron said through his eggs.

Goldstein, who'd been about to ask Ron a question, snorted, his face going red and his eyes wide. "What was that?"

Harry figured it out and felt a deep belly laugh for the first time in what felt like forever. "Getting head," he managed to repeat to Ron, who roared in laughter, thankfully covering his mouth as he did so. "Merlin, Ron. Your feet are too big to get them stuck in your mouth like that."

Lavender Brown joined them, blond curls caressing her shoulders in a way that Harry noticed, but that made him long for the dark brown hair of years past. He shook the memories away. Again. Their Housemate smiled up at Goldstein. "What? He could totally do both, you know. I'd go there."

Goldstein almost exploded before Lavender took pity on him and handed him a glass of juice. He gulped it down in record time. "Thanks, er, I think. Sorry I didn't get to see you on the train yesterday, Potter. Or do we call you Potter-Black, now?" Goldstein smiled, clearly trying to get the attention off of himself.

"Mister Potter-Black." The answer to the Head Boy's question came from their Head of House. "Here you are. Mister Weasley, your timetable. Miss Brown, your timetable. Mister Goldstein, why are you not with your House?"

"Wanted to check in with Ron about a suggestion he made on the train yesterday, ma'am. It can wait."

"Hm. Fine then. Off with you. Miss Patil, your timetable."

Ron swallowed his eggs. "So we're in all the same classes again, mate, right?"

"No . . . I don't think so. I don't appear to be much in regular lessons at all, really." Perturbed, he stood and called, "Professor McGonagall?"

"Yes, Mister Potter-Black?"

"Ma'am, this timetable doesn't make any sense."

"Just a moment, Mister Potter-Black. Let me get these distributed and we'll get you sorted."

Harry had no choice but to sit down, but he had gone off his food entirely.

Lavender reached over the table and snagged the sheet of parchment from his unresisting fingers. "Merlin, Harry. What's this? Looks like you've got nothing but tutorials all term!"

"I know." _Accio, timetable_ , he cast silently, holding his wand just barely over the table. The parchment darted back to his hand while all those about him just gaped. "What?" he grumbled, flipping the sheet over to study it again. "Never seen wordless Summoning before? Honestly." Hearing the word, he flinched, his mind echoing it in Hermione's voice.

Or _was_ it her voice? Did he really remember it any more? He froze, trying to hear it in his memory.

"Oi, Harry? C'mon, mate, you're scaring the first years, going spare like that." Ron nudged his best friend and exchanged worried glances with Lavender and Dean and Parvati. He half wanted to look for Neville, but he'd been gone for more than a year, now. Bloody hell of a mess. And Seamus had quit school to go work with his mum, a fully qualified wizard, but not an ambitious one. When Harry didn't answer, Ron took his timetable. "What is it? Private lesson with the greasy git?" He glanced over the parchment and blanched. "Bloody hell. He _does_ have private lessons with 'im. _Twice!_ "

* * *

Severus Snape was not a happy man. Not that he had been happy, not for more than a moment at a time, probably since before he'd come to Hogwarts the first time. Or at least once Lily Evans had been sorted. Too many years to think of being unhappy, really, but this morning, he really was feeling the pinch. "Headmaster, I'd like a word."

"Of course, Severus." Albus smiled beatifically at the gathered students, but Severus could only see one.

Harry Potter. Harry Potter- _Black_ , now. Irritation burned under Severus's skin. That boy. The Chosen One with his attitude and his arrogance; just like his father. Severus grimly stepped away from the head table, down the lines of disagreeable students—save a few competent brewers, it seemed to the Potions Master that all the students were disagreeable to some degree—to the Entrance Hall, where he withdrew with a comforting billow of his professorial robes. He slid his own version of a timetable from an inner pocket and unfolded the parchment as he waited for Albus to join him.

Which did happen, at length, for the Headmaster had to nod and smile and speak heartening words and whatever it was he did that made him Albus Dumbledore, one of the most beloved Headmasters of Hogwarts in over a century. When the older wizard reached the Entrance Hall, he smilingly closed the door to give them privacy. "Yes, Severus. How may I help you this morning?"

"It's what you've done to my schedule, Albus. This, this last minute addition," he clarified, offering the parchment to the Headmaster. "I am not prepared to teach Potter Occlumency."

The Headmaster glanced at the parchment, but Severus was convinced that he had done so only for form. "You're a most accomplished man in the mind arts, Severus. Who else should be charged with so doing?"

"You? You've had far more practice."

"No. I, I don't think that would be the best idea." Albus smoothed his beard, his eyes taking on a distant sort of light. "Ever since Lord Black acquired guardianship of Harry, the boy's been a little adversarial where I'm concerned, you see."

Severus hissed under his breath. "No, _really_? He's been _adversarial_ , as you put it, in my presence since his _Sorting_. Really, Headmaster, I cannot—"

"But you must. He needs to learn to deal with an adversary in his mind; you know he's encountered Tom in his mind before."

Severus couldn't argue those points, but he was still unhappy. "Then might he have a different potions professor? He is _not_ a gifted brewer and I cannot _abide_ working with him any more than is strictly necessary." Tension seemed to stiffen his fingers until Severus had to make the digits function well enough to reclaim his schedule from the Headmaster.

"Well, dear boy, I might be able to accommodate you in that area. Perhaps I could get Horace to step in for his Potions tutoring, yes. That might serve nicely."

* * *

"Good luck," Ron muttered with a best mate punch to the shoulder as they parted ways after lunch later in the Great Hall.

"Thanks," Harry murmured to the empty air. At least, he reflected, he didn't have to have Potions with Snape. That was something. No, instead he had to have his mind invaded by the greasy git. He'd be meeting with a Potions tutor—a man who came out of retirement just for him, the Headmaster informed him with great relish—once a week. And that day wasn't yet, so that was something.

He stared at Snape's office door and swallowed his nerves back down to his stomach. Then, he clenched his hands into fists, wondered how the bloody hell he was going to keep Snape out of his head, and knocked.

"Enter."

 _This is so I can defeat Voldemort. This is so I can defeat Voldemort. So everyone's sacrifices were not in vain. So that Hermione didn't die in vain. So that Neville didn't die in vain_. _This is so I can defeat Voldemort_. Drawing a deep breath into his lungs, he entered the office he detested more than any place in Hogwarts. "Thank you, Professor Snape."

Snape stood stiffly in the center of the office, a black and white embodiment of disdain. "Mister Potter-Black. Well." His dark gaze raked Harry up and down. "You are to be instructed in the art of Occlumency and I, to both of our displeasure I'm sure, am tasked with teaching it to you."

Harry bit his tongue against a swift retort before swallowing and nodding. "Yes, sir. I appreciate your time." That last came out with a huge effort, but he was trying to be polite. "I've read about Occlumency." Hermione had told him he needed to, but he hadn't heeded her then; he had in the past couple days. "Not as much as I should have," he admitted.

"Undoubtedly. Well, we'll begin with what we have." Snape moved at last, gesturing to one hard-backed chair. "Sit." Harry sat where indicated without comment, not taking his eyes from Snape. The Potions Master turned and crossed his arms over his chest. "Does Black know you're here?"

"My father? Not exactly." At the professor's lifted brow, Harry elaborated. "I know there's bad, bad blood between you and I didn't want him to forbid this. I, I know I need to learn Occlumency—" _Even if I don't want you to teach me_. "—to face Voldemort."

"Do not use that name!" Snape's sudden lunge toward his chair made Harry flinch.

Harry reacted by going on the offensive. "It's just a name, and it's not even his! The Headmaster showed me who he really is. His name's Tom Riddle. A half-blood, like me. That other name is a sham." He jerked his chin up in an act of subconscious defiance.

Snape drew himself up to his full height, which was not inconsiderable, and glared down his nose. "Regardless. You will not say that name in my presence. If you find the _ridiculous_ nomenclature adopted by the rest of the school to be offensive, call him _Riddle_."

Harry grit his teeth but nodded. "Yes, sir."

The professor relaxed and settled into the upholstered chair across from Harry. It was clear that this was going to be uncomfortable, and Snape obviously didn't intend to hide it. "All right, then. Let's begin." He inhaled deeply enough that Harry could see his chest move, even under his robes. His voice was calmer, too, when he spoke again. "The arts of the mind are intricate, dependent as much upon mood as upon skill as one undertakes to learn them." Leaning back into the chair, he steepled his fingers in front of his nose, all while training his eyes on Harry. "The Headmaster believes I should be your instructor in this art as the Dark Lord already has an 'adversarial relationship' with you, so working with me would be similar. Would you agree, Mister Potter- _Black_?"

Harry felt all his muscles tighten up, but he tried to pretend he was relaxing as Snape was evidently doing. He leaned back in the chair—insofar as he could—and crossed his ankle over the opposite knee. "I would. Sir. I want to do everything I can to bring him down."

"Then our aims are the same."

A small jolt of surprise went through Harry's chest at the remark, but he only nodded. "So, what do I do?"

"The Dark Lord will strike at your weaknesses, Mister Potter-Black." He spoke Harry's hyphenated last name as if it were cursed.

Harry held up a hand. "Sir. Just a moment. Potter is fine. Please. It's been my name most of my life, so that's fine."

"Fine. Potter." Harry nodded and Snape did as well.

Harry made himself hold the professor's black gaze as long as he could, just to see if one of them had to look away. It was odd. Harry sensed a sort of pain in the older man's eyes, an odd sort of _twisted_ feeling that lasted until Snape jerked his head to one side, ending their unspoken contest of wills. He had no idea why Snape did that. "Sir? My weaknesses?"

With a toss of his head, Snape resumed his prior posture. "Yes. What do you consider to be your biggest weakness?" His lip curled just a bit, making Harry want to leave.

He didn't. Uncrossing his legs, he shifted forward a bit on the hard chair. His weaknesses. The first thing that came to mind was Hermione. Would it always be that way? Would he carry her memory with him forever? They'd had such a short time _together_ , and hadn't said or done nearly enough as a _couple_ , perhaps, to make her so much a part of him, but she was. Not that he could bring himself to share that with _Snape_.

Whose voice was cool but not derisive when he asked, "Miss Granger? Would you consider her to be your greatest weakness, Potter?"

With an abrupt shake of his head, Harry decided he couldn't say so. "Hermione. I don't think she would be, no. She was, she was my best friend. My girlfriend. She could never be a weakness." Dropping his focus to his fingers, he laced them together and smiled ruefully at them. "She'd hate to be considered one, anyway."

Snape sighed loudly, proclaiming his impatience. "If not her, then what? Dementors? You can cast a Patronus, I know. What do the Dementors say or do that gets to you, Potter? That could be considered your greatest weakness, and no doubt the Dark Lord knows what it is."

Dementors. Harry was relieved, funnily enough, to be able to think of _them_ instead of Hermione. He could remember the last time he'd seen one for real. He'd been with Dudley, and they'd been arguing and that Dementor had come. And then another one. He remembered hearing his mother screaming, "Not my son!"

That was usually the point where he blacked out, but not that afternoon in Snape's office. When Harry would have shut his eyes, when his mind rose up to separate him from the screams, Snape invaded. Harry was suddenly aware of the cold, persistent presence of the Potions Master, scything through his memories, seeking the weakest points.

"Get. Out."

"Make me."

"I. Can't."

"Try harder."

Trying to use the experience for what it was—a lesson—Harry did _not_ swear at the professor. Instead, he tried to think of things to block the man. Memories of good things, much as he had remembered Ron and, and _Hermione_ when the Dementor came for him and Dudley. But all he could think of was the Dementor and the memory of his mother's scream, which a Dementor always brought him.

"No," he said, practically growling.

"Yes!" Snape rasped. Harry felt trapped, but he couldn't shake the man out of his mind.

He felt Snape's presence dart to another memory. _The_ memory. The one from that awful night in 1981.

His mum, with her red hair and green eyes, begging the man that he now knew as Tom Riddle. "Leave him alone! Not my son!" Her wand was out, but Harry didn't see it pointed at Riddle. It was, instead, pointed at Harry himself, making minute curls in the dark room.

The intruder laughed. "Think you're as good as your husband?" Harry could see the memory, see it all the way through, because Snape was anchoring him to it. Riddle did something, waved his wand and aimed it at Harry. "Your son isn't, though. I've been asked to save _you_ , witch, but not your son." Then, he shouted something in a language Harry didn't even recognize and baby Harry fell back in the cot, shrieking.

His mother wept, shouting, "Not my son!" until Voldemort put her in a non-verbal body bind whilst he reached out to touch Harry's forehead.

Harry struggled, hating to see this horrifying memory, but it wasn't enough. Gritting his teeth, he ground out, "No! Let me out!"

"No." Snape sounded half-broken himself, but Harry couldn't look at him; he was both compelled and repelled by the memory of his mother. Freeing herself at length, Lily Potter aimed her wand and screamed something, something horrid enough to make Riddle _explode_ into thin air! "Mum," Harry whispered in Snape's office, willing himself to stay, now, to see what his mother had done. _She_ had defeated _Voldemort_! Lily Potter was a _heroine_! She turned quickly in his memory to him, pointing her wand at his forehead, where Riddle had touched him. He didn't know what she said, though, as her words were muttered low and fast.

Harry didn't much care, though. He was too overwhelmed. How could this be his weakest moment? Good feelings suffused him and he felt almost strong enough to push Snape out. His _mum_ was reaching for him. His _mum_ picked him up and held him, though he was crying over something. His _mum—_

"Lily." It was Dumbledore, in the memory. The Headmaster had appeared in Harry's nursery, wearing dark robes and a dark cap.

His mother sagged against the cot, cuddling Harry against her breast. Her voice was strained when she said, "He's gone, Albus. I just obliterated him with one of those hexes I've been working on for the Order."

In the memory, Lily Potter turned to put Harry back in his cot. When she did, Albus Dumbledore, Leader of the Order of the Phoenix, cast the green light of _Avada Kedavra_ at her and she fell to the floor.

Harry-the-infant didn't have time to cry before Dumbledore sent Reductor Curses at the walls of the nursery, destroying the room and leaving Harry exposed to the elements. Then, the old man Apparated away without another word.

* * *

 **A/N** : The encounter with Lily and Dumbledore here was taken from Chapter 6 of **Broomstick Flyer's Last Works, Uncompleted**. In this story, **_QA_** , I had always intended for Dumbledore to be The Bad Guy (see chapter one, yeah?) but this twist came when **Katmom** showed me the chapter from broomstick flyer. The blurb on the collection says: _Anyone who wishes to take up her ideas is welcome to do so, just acknowledge._ All credit for this twist to the late writer. _**Quamquam Absens**_ is still the story I had originally intended before I ever heard of the story-start from that talented author; this twist, though, made the Headmaster more evil. I liked that.

See you next week.


	4. Exfugio

_**A/N:** So, the Dumblerage is rather prevalent, no? Please remember, the credit for that bit of evil goes to the late **broomstick flyer** , per the note at the end of chapter three. _

_We return precisely where we left off. My thanks always to **Katmom** for asking pertinent questions!_

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

 ** _2 September 1997_**

"No! No, no, no!" Harry's shouts echoed off every surface of Professor Snape's office. He was blind to the professor's quick warding of the room, deaf to the older man's entreaty to calm himself. "Not him! Not him!"

Horrible enough to have had to watch that memory to its conclusion; to hear his mother's desperate cries and then to see her killed before his eyes. How much more to see that his mother's murderer was the man he had trusted for years to guide him? That so many had relied upon to be the Leader of the Light? "Dad . . . I need my dad."

"Potter! Control yourself! We have to make some decisions immediately."

Fury finally wrested Harry's attention from his own pain to focus on Severus Snape. And what he saw in the professor's face cooled that fury considerably. Tears. The greasy git was actually _weeping_. In front of _him_.

"We will avenge her, Potter." Snape was on his knees as well, his hands fisted and twitching. "But we have to be careful."

"Dumbledore," Harry whispered. "How could he?"

Snape opened his mouth, closed it. "I don't know. He, he promised me, you know. To save her. And I thought he'd merely failed."

"He _killed_ her. He killed my _mum_."

Snape was nodding slowly, dragging himself to his feet, using his chair as a brace. "He did." He looked as lost as Harry felt, which was one of the oddest things the young man had ever experienced. To be in sympathy with Professor Snape? Unheard of.

But not impossible, apparently. Harry pushed himself up. "I can't stay here. I have to go. I want to, want to—"

Snape moved far more quickly, blocking the door with his body. "I wouldn't ask you to remain here, Mister Potter. You've passed your O.W.L.s. There's nothing keeping you here. I won't stay myself."

That caught Harry's notice. "No? But—"

"My future is not your concern. However, I do feel obligated to get you to your . . . your _father_."

"I have to tell Ron. They need to know. I can call the Aurors—Tonks! She and Remus are, are close. I can tell her and—"

"If you'll take my advice—and why should you? I've only survived two murdering madmen for more than a dozen years with my sanity intact—you won't tell a soul until you are out of Hogwarts. Dumbledore's word is law, here, and he is the Steward of the castle."

It was as if he'd been doused in ice water. Harry pushed out a loud breath and put a hand over his racing heart. "What do I do?" He hated asking Snape, but who else was there that knew?

"Can you send an owl to Black?"

Harry remembered something important. "We have mirrors. Two-way conversational mirrors. I can call him immediately."

Snape grimaced. "Do not tell him why you need to leave. Just pack up and do so. Do you know the Shrinking Charm? For your trunk?"

"Of course."

"Use it. And return here and we'll both leave. After that, well . . ."

"Professor Snape. He killed my mother!"

"And my first friend. I know. Your mother and I—never mind. You can't tell anyone you've left until you're gone, Potter. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Weasley. I know you'll want to talk to him, but it has to wait. Send him a letter by owl. Say anything but the truth until we can come up with a plan of action."

"What will you do?" Harry didn't like the desperate but calculating gleam in the Potion Master's eye.

"I'll stay alive. I hope."

"You know, sir. I really hope you do. Stay alive, I mean. I want to know more."

"So do I, Potter." Snape met his look, then. "So. Do. I."

* * *

"Sirius Black. Sirius Black. Sirius Black."

He heard his son's voice at the same time as the inner pocket of his Wizengamot robes vibrated. Breaking off the discussion he was having with Greengrass, Sirius said, "Harry's calling from school."

Greengrass looked intrigued. "Oh?"

"Communication mirror. I'll be back in a moment." Feeling Greengrass's eyes on him, Sirius stepped to the nearest alcove and cast a silencing ward around the area to keep the conversation private. "Harry!" he said, smiling to see the young man's bright eyes. It was still quite amazing to him that Harry Potter was Harry Potter- _Black_. "How are you, son?"

"Dad. I've left school. I need to go home. I need to talk to you right away."

Sirius swore, and took in Harry's appearance. The bespectacled eyes were narrow. His face, pinched with obvious distress. Sirius could only one person at Hogwarts who would make Harry look like that. "What happened? Did Snivellus—"

"No, nothing with Professor Snape. Exactly. I can't tell you on _this_ , Dad. I have to get out of Hogwarts and I'm staying out of Hogwarts. I need to talk to you in person."

Sirius didn't bother even trying to dissuade him; Harry was clearly distraught "Where are you?"

"The Forbidden Forest, just out of sight of everyone."

"Good. Good lad. Go home. The wards will let you in."

"Can I Apparate right in?" Sirius had taken him to get his Apparition License in August.

"Yes. Just you, me, and Remus can, so go ahead. Are you—are you in danger, Harry?"

There was a pause that made Sirius's heart practically stop in his chest. "Not . . . right . . . now. Not right now. But . . ."

"Go home. I'll be there as soon as I can. I'm in London."

"I can come to you!"

"No. Home is safer. Go. Wait for me."

"All right. Thanks, Dad. Thank you."

"I'm on your side, Harry. Always."

The mirror went black and Sirius stared, unseeing, into the space in front of him. What the bleeding hell had happened at Hogwarts? Did this have to do with the Horcrux problem? Had Voldemort struck the school? Was it Dementors?

"Remus Lupin. Remus Lupin."

His old friend's familiar face was only partly visible. "Padfoot. What is it? It had better be good."

Sirius was in no mood to justify himself, so he didn't tease Remus about the pair of lips that were attacking the man's ear. "Harry's left school, Moony. I'm going to Derbyshire. Keep an ear open?"

Remus's eyes went golden in the mirror. "Of course. Dora?"

"Dammit, it's Tonks!"

"Sure. Should be fine. But don't come 'til I talk to Harry. Just—" He didn't know what to ask. His heart was pounding, his mouth was dry with worry, and his mind was racing to ten possible, horrific scenarios.

"I'll wait to hear from you or Harry. Breathe, Sirius. He'll be safe in Derbyshire."

"Thanks, Moony."

* * *

"I'm gonna kill him. Right now. You and me. Remus as well. I bet he's sitting at Hogwarts right now and—"

"Sirius! Stop!" Harry felt an immense relief, having told his dad about what his memories had uncovered. But now, the older man was stabbing the air with his wand and had threatened to Floo directly to Dumbledore's office. Thrice. With a scowl, Sirius rounded on him, sliding his wand back to his wrist holster. "Thank you," Harry said, not able to hide his smile at his father's willingness to listen. "I don't trust him not to turn against me, even now, even with that damned prophecy. So I want to just, just stay _away_ from him, you know? Can we do that?"

Sirius stood, practically vibrating with the need to act, staring at him. "We can't let him get away with this."

"What evidence do we have?" Harry hated it, but he and Snape had talked a bit about this on their clandestine journey off the Hogwarts grounds. Harry had been under his Cloak of Invisibility, his trunk shrunk and stuck in a pocket of his robes. Snape had all his gear—the sum total, he'd said, of a life lived in servitude—shrunk so that it could fit within a potions kit. "Only my memory. I didn't even put it in a Pensieve, Sirius."

"Dad." Sirius relaxed enough to smile a little. "Remember?"

"Dad." Harry drew in a breath to expand his lungs, getting past the pleasure of the relationship and the pain from the memory. "So. I say I hide. We'll put this place under a Fidelius again. You'll train me. Find the Horcruxes. And then find that bastard Tom Riddle and end this. Then, we can go after him."

Sirius moved to put his hands firmly on Harry's shoulders and bent until their foreheads touched. "All right. How many of those damnable things are there?"

" _He_ told me six." With a shrug, Harry patted his father on the arms before stepping away. "Which means more than two and less than ten, I reckon. I know what some of them are, but not where they'll be."

"Then we need to figure out how to find them and destroy them."

"The diary was one. Got rid of that with basilisk venom."

Sirius snorted. "Well, lucky I've got some of that."

Harry brightened. "Really?"

"No. Just wishing."

"Dad!"

Spending the rest of the afternoon unpacking helped Harry to calm down. Setting up his laundry to do—they had two house-elves, which always gave him a bittersweet tug in his chest—organizing his books, and then reviewing all the wards on the property settled him. By evening, he was ready to see Remus and Tonks.

They needed to have a plan.

* * *

"Libbet!"

The house-elf appeared in the Headmaster's office, her left ear down, right ear up. "Libbet is here to serve the Headmaster!"

"I know you will. I'd like you to go find Harry Potter, if you would, and bring him to me. I know we don't often transport students like that, but he may have had a rough tutorial and I wanted him to have an easier trip of it up here."

"Yes, sir, Headmaster sir."

The house-elf popped away with alacrity, returning after what seemed to Albus to be a rather long interval, all things considered. "Well, where is Mister Potter?"

Libbet bowed and scraped and pulled at her ears with something near to violence. "Mister Harry Potter was not anywheres. Libbet looks and looks for Mister Harry Potter and did not find him anywheres!"

A chilly feeling washed over Albus's skin. "Well, Libbet, do not distress yourself. I am sure that Mister Potter is about somewhere. I'll just go have a look, shall I?"

"Sorries, Headmaster! Libbet is sorry!" And the blue-eyed house-elf popped away again.

Gathering his spangled robes about himself, Albus smoothed his beard and adopted a pleasant, unconcerned visage as he left his office to go in search of Harry Potter.

He trusted that Libbet had searched everywhere the elves could go; they were bound to serve Hogwarts and, by extension, the Headmaster. It was up to Albus, then, to seek where the elves could _not_ go. Which meant Severus's private quarters. Though if Severus and Harry were _still_ there, Albus would be concerned. Had the session been too rough on the boy?

With nods and smiles, he passed as swiftly as he could through the Great Hall to the Dungeon, where Severus's private offices were. Prepared to meet a series of wards and challenges, he was vastly surprised when just knocking on the aged walnut door had it opening for him.

"Hello?" he called, stepping cautiously into the room. "Professor Snape? Mister Potter?"

His words echoed back to him and he froze in his path. Nothing. There was nothing in this room. No people. Only the bare basics of "Hogwarts-Issue" furniture. Even the scents he had long associated with Severus Snape had been wiped away. The chamber smelt only of old paper and wood, seeping water and stone.

Not bothering to call out again, Albus strode quickly through the rest of the chamber, opening the hidden door to a private bedroom and office, but all for naught. For the first time in decades, his heart thudded in alarm and his hands shook. Something was very wrong.

"Libbet!" he shouted.

 _Pop!_ "Libbet is here to serve the Headmaster!"

"Libbet, go to the Gryffindor dormitory, seventh year, and see if Mister Potter's school trunk is there."

 _Pop!_ He only had enough time to count to three before the house-elf was back.

"No, Headmaster! Nothing of Mister Potter is in the room! All his things is gone."

Fury and fear tangled in Albus's mind. "Thank you, Libbet. That will be all."

He had to find them. But when he cast the Locate spell, his wand spun and spun.

Harry Potter was either dead—unlikely—or unplottable.

The Headmaster's mouth worked, but no words came forth. In his ire, he stretched out both hands and dug furrows into the bare ground, a full meter deep and ten meters long on either side of him.

No one ever found out how they got there, but the speculation was that some first years were trying to dig a moat around the castle and got caught.

Libbet never said otherwise. She had a loyalty oath to obey.

* * *

 ** _15 December 1997_**

"Hermione Jean Granger! What are you doing?"

Hermione was using her wand to settle books into her school trunk before Shrinking them. She swallowed down her fury before she did something she'd regret. "Packing. It's what one does when one is moving, does not one?"

"Moving? But we're not moving." Her mother invited herself into the room and sat on the elegant blue bedding. Blue. Certainly not anything reminiscent of the crimson and gold Hermione was accustomed to. "Dear. What's wrong? Did your exams not go well? The lizard ones?"

"N.E.W.T.s, Mum. Not lizards. They're like the Wizarding A-Levels. Or Advanced Placement exams, as they say here in the States." Stepping to her closet, Hermione shifted through her clothes, determining what to take and what to Banish. North American Wizarding society was a far cry less Victorian than England's. Mobile phones were still problematic in Wizarding institutions such as Ilvermony, but witches and wizards did have them in their possession, to use while away from places of highly concentrated magic. Hermione wished she'd had a mobile phone herself, to have called Harry, after . . .

She shook it off. She was angry. So very, very angry.

Her mother sighed and smoothed the bedclothes. "So you did well, then?"

"Yes. I did. They've already marked them, as a matter of fact. And I learned a great deal whilst I was there."

Emma Granger rose to her feet in a fidget. "Oh? And what you learned made you want to move? Daniel! Come here!"

At that, Hermione froze, reminding herself that her parents were Muggles and that even though there was no trace on her wand any longer, she really didn't want to do anything harmful here in a Muggle neighborhood. Even if she had been betrayed by her parents. Even if they'd stolen her away and all but held her captive. She hadn't been allowed to leave the house until her tutors had informed her parents that passing the "Wizarding Advanced Placement Exams" required her to be in a magical enclave such as Ilvermony.

And now, Hermione knew why they'd been so "protective" of her.

Her father reached her room, bracing himself in the doorframe, tie askew as he'd just come back from the office. "Welcome home, Hermione," he said expansively. "What did you want, Emma?"

"She's packing!"

Her father's smile left his face as if Banished with her unwanted school robes. "What do you think you're doing, young lady?"

She brandished her wand in a very obvious way, subconsciously adopting a dueling stance in her bedroom. "Leaving. Changing my name. Going somewhere to do some good, to fight for Harry Potter, even if he—"

Daniel fisted his hands and hit the door. "I will _not_ have that name spoken in my house!"

"I love him!" It was still true, though the emotion gave her no joy. "And he's my friend. And you've kept me from him all this time. You lied to me."

Her mother crossed her arms. "Why do you say that?"

"Because I was finally able to get some news. Some news from _home_. And Harry's godfather did not die, as you'd told me. Harry isn't pining away, mourning, needing time to heal, as you repeated over and again. He's fine. He looks—well, he looks amazing, honestly. Healthy and, and _happy_." Her voice, which had been strong, fell a bit at that admission. Still, she was a Gryffindor and would persevere, relaxing her limbs somewhat, but still on alert. "He was adopted by Sirius Black this summer. Adopted and made heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black. There were pictures in the newspapers I found in the Ilvermony Library. A party. The announcement about the adoption. He's happy, you see."

Her mother couldn't seem to resist rubbing it in. "He's happy _without_ you, Hermione. Don't you see? We were trying to _protect_ you." Her mother moved closer to try to take her hand, but Hermione moved to the chest of drawers and started sorting her lingerie whilst her mother continued to speak. "Did he ever write to you? To see how you were? No. He led you into danger, almost got you killed, and never sent word after. And you sent him many, didn't you?"

"I did," she replied softly, still tossing knickers, slips, and bras to the trunk near the bed. "But the evil we fought against is still out there, Mum. Dad. And I am going to do my best to help." She spun around to face them both, a flick of her wand closing and locking her trunk. "Did you know that Dad's got magic in his family?"

Looking affronted, her father stiffened, still standing in the doorway. "Doubtful. No one in my family's like you, Hermione."

"Yes, there is. The proctor for the practical Potions exam showed me. We're related, Dad, to Hector Dagworth-Granger, the wizard who founded The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers." With a frown, she shrunk book after book from her shelves while she continued. "And the proctor rather liked me, and he's sponsoring me to study across the country. So I'm moving. And I'm not coming back."

"You can't!" her father declared in a near-shout. "It's dangerous!"

Hermione finished with her books and closed her bag, hefting it to decide how light to make it with the proper charms. "I know it is. And my friends are fighting out there. I promised to do my part. If they don't—if they don't need me in England, I'll do what I can to research from here." She rubbed at the scar that still burned a bright pink under her clothes. "I learned some things at Ilvermony and I'm going to make them work for Harry. Even if—" She broke off and bit her lip before continuing resolutely, "—if he's happier without me. He's not done yet. Voldemort is still out there and Harry's not done yet."

"You can't leave," her mother stated, standing with Dad as if to block the door.

Hermione didn't even try to hide her smile as she silently employed the Shrinking Charm to all that she would take with her. "Yes. I can. You can't hold me captive any longer. No more lies. No more pretend sympathy. I'm going to fight in my own way if I can't be by his side."

"Hermione! No! It's a waste of—"

"Nothing I do for him will ever be wasted. And even if he never knows, I will. I'll know. And that's all that matters. Goodbye."

 _Destination. Determination. Deliberation_. With her destination set firmly in her mind, Hermione took a breath, steeled herself against the inevitable lurch, turned, and Apparated away.

 **. . . .**

Somewhere, in the Records at the Ministry of Magic, where such things are kept up to date in a magical manner, the following appeared on a piece of parchment in a file

 ** _Hermione Jean Granger, Muggle-born_**

became

 ** _Hermione Dagworth, Muggle-born_**

And a series of test scores were added:

 **N.E.W.T. Scores, 1997**

 **Taken at the Ilvermony School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

 **Ancient Runes O**

 **Arithmancy O**

 **Astronomy O**

 **Care of Magical Creatures O**

 **Charms O**

 **Defense Against the Dark Arts EE**

 **Herbology O**

 **History of Magic O**

 **Potions O**

 **Transfiguration O**

Assuming records were expunged upon death, no one noted or even looked for the changes to the Records.

Besides, people were far too busy talking about the disappearance of Albus Dumbledore.

* * *

 _A/N: See you Wednesday! If you want a sneak peek into the next chapter, it'll be on my tumblr blog (see my profile) tomorrow._


	5. Consuetudo

_A/N: Another reminder that this is an AU. This means I have manipulated canon circumstances, rules, etc. to suit my story._

 _And yay! All hail **Cecily Mitchell** for catching review #100! Thank you so much!_

 _A shout-out to **Montara** , too, for reading and reviewing so many of my one-shots and drabbles! I've been honored. :)_

* * *

 **Chapter** **Five**

 ** _Spring, 1998_**

"Harry!"

"Ron. Sorry, mate. I had to—"

Ron Weasley shook his head and lunged forward at the Burrow to grip his best mate in a hug. Harry closed his eyes and hugged him right back, not having fully realized until that moment how much he'd missed Ron. It had been months since he'd seen him, for Harry had been too wary even over the Christmas holidays to visit the Weasleys. He and Sirius—and the occasional trusted tutor—had spent most of their time tucked away in the Derbyshire estate.

On the bright day of early June—an off-day for exams at Hogwarts, which allowed Ron to Floo home for the weekend—Harry and Ron were within the Burrow's warded orchards, surrounded by fresh green leaves and rich earth under their feet. "You'll tell me everything. I know. I just felt like, you know, first Hermione then you, right? It was bloody awful."

Harry thumped him on the back and drew away. "I know. Thing is, what I'm going to tell you is bloody awful. And you can't tell anyone." He studied Ron's eyes, clear and open as the spring sky. They began to cloud over, though, and Harry frowned before stepping back to pace a little. "I have to go looking for . . . things, Ron. Dark things. The Headmaster said I could tell _you_ , because I'm going to need help."

Ron was almost pathetic in his eagerness to know something no one else knew. After years listening to Sirius dissect—and sometimes vivisect—the characters of others, Harry had come to learn a great deal about people. Even people whom he cared for. He had learnt that Ronald Bilius Weasley was a good friend until and unless he was smitten with overweening jealousy. But give him "special" things to do, to be, and he was a companion for life.

And Harry desperately needed his help. "I need you to get me into Hogwarts, Ron. We have to go find something. Something that needs to be destroyed if we're going to defeat Voldemort."

Ron appeared to gather all of his solemnity and maturity to nod. "All right, Harry. I'm with you. What do we need to do?"

"First, has Dumbledore been seen recently? Has your dad had any word that hasn't been in the papers?"

Ron shook his head and started walking slowly out of the orchard. "No, he hasn't. He disappeared the day after you did. McGonagall's taken over for the rest of the year, and no one's seen hide nor hair of Dumbledore."

"Good. Good. All right then, this still has to be a secret, even from McGonagall." They stopped when they reached the edge of the trees and, in the waning light of the cooling spring day, Harry told his friend about the Horcruxes.

It was dark before they made it indoors. And they never noticed that Molly hadn't called for them.

* * *

Derbyshire looked peaceful enough, with the rolling green landscape, the mighty rocks, the acres of shepherded trees. Farecliffe Hall, an ancestral home of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, was utterly unimposing when there wasn't a coming of age celebration to be had. The Hall was a manor house, crafted of dark stone, with high peaks on the roof. Chimneys were quiescent during most summer afternoons, and no one noticed the house-elves who kept the gardens tidy.

All was peaceful outside the Hall. Inside, though, was a windowless dueling room that was often inhabited.

"Get those shields up, Harry!" Remus sent off a nonverbal _Stupefy_ at the young man.

"They are up, Moony!" Harry grimaced and tried to cast wandlessly as well as silently to take his brutal Defense tutor off his guard. _Petrificus Totalis_! he shouted in his mind, with a flick of his wrist for focus.

Remus Lupin, the prat, just laughed. "Shields, Harry."

Before Harry could blink again, he had been tossed arse over elbow, his glasses hanging crookedly from one ear as he lay sprawled on the flagstone floor. "Bloody hell, Moony!"

"Again!"

 **. . . .**

Training seemed to go on forever, but Harry felt as if he were mastering his offensive and defensive spells. He was also giving the idea of becoming an Animagus some thought, since Sirius had seemed to find use and joy in his Animagus form.

But the initial meditations were not conducive to further pursuit of the matter. "I can't even find my form, Dad. It's like there's someone in the way, blocking my view."

Sirius paled. "Merlin. Are you still having nightmares, Harry?"

"Not so many, lately, since we've been working on Occlumency . . . ?" Harry closed his eyes and tried to take a steady breath. "Do you think it's, it's _him_ , Dad?"

"I don't know, son. But I do know that you're strong enough to fight him." He clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Maybe we should try the Animagus thing later."

"Yeah."

 **. . . .**

It was early autumn, and the days were growing significantly shorter when a new visitor was allowed past the wards of Farecliffe. His dad came through the Floo first, spelling ash away from his leather jacket. "You remember Alastor Moody, don't you, Harry?"

The old Auror seemed to roll as he stumped out of the fireplace. Harry visibly flinched. "I remember."

"And I remember you, lad. I hear tell you're ready to have a real duel, eh?"

Harry blew out a breath and met his dad's amused look. "I'd like to think so."

"Come on, let's go to the dueling room," Sirius suggested. "I don't want you to break anything out here, Mad-Eye." They climbed a short flight of stairs and went down a fairly basic corridor that could have been in any sort of English country estate before reaching a heavy oak door.

Harry opened it and moved immediately aside. "Are you sure about this, Dad?" he murmured.

"Only way to find out is to do it, son."

The infamous magical eye in the Auror's head spun to take in the stone-lined dueling room. Nodding as if grimly satisfied, he made no further preparations before shouting, " _Expelliarmus_!"

Harry didn't even bother to swear. He rolled his eyes, cast a wandless shield, and did his best against the toughest man to walk Diagon Alley in recent memory.

"You lasted three minutes, kiddo," Sirius said with a smirk as he released Harry from the _Petrificus Totalis_ that had brought him down. "Not too bad, really."

Moody spun both his wand and Harry's with an air of extreme nonchalance. "Ready to go again?"

"I am, but I'd like to include Ron Weasley, Moody."

The old Auror harrumphed with dissatisfaction. "I'll meet with him separately. You'd just take him apart, lad, the way you are now."

"Fine. But. I want to train with him sooner rather than later. He knows everything, Moody." At the older wizard's startled expression, Harry nodded. "He's my best mate. He's gonna have my back, no matter what. He needs to know."

In answer, Moody aimed another Stunning hex at him, but Harry waved it off with a wandless shield.

The men smiled at one another, briefly in perfect accord.

* * *

 _ **December, 1998**_

For New Year's Eve, Sirius surprised Harry with a smart suit of charcoal gray wool. "We're going out, son."

Sirius was unsurprised when his son eyed the gift askance. "Where, Dad?"

"Away. Out. You've been cooped up in here forever and that's no life for you." He tossed Harry the suit. "Shower. Change. We're leaving in half an hour."

"Dad!" Harry rolled his eyes but was laughing as he Apparated to the upper story, where their bedrooms were.

Sirius himself was ready for a night out in exactly twenty-five minutes. The cheval mirror in his suite reflected a man in his late thirties who was, if he did say so himself, a superior specimen of English Wizard. Gleaming black hair tied back to a dapper queue, a bespoke suit of worsted wool in a sharp pinstripe with a solid waistcoat. And in the pocket, he had a hidden Portkey.

Harry appeared at Sirius's bedroom door five minutes late. Sirius just had to smile at the younger man as he made him turn around. "Not bad, son. Not bad. The gray brings out your eyes." Harry snorted and ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "All right, then. We're going to Paris. Have your wallet and some identification?"

"Paris?"

* * *

Her name was Amalie Bouchard. A niece of the Headmaster of Ilvermony School of Witchcraft and Wizardry somewhere in America and a recent graduate of Beauxbatons, the blue-eyed blonde was coyly forward in her pursuit of Harry during the course of the New Year's Eve celebration to which Sirius had taken them. Harry wasn't quite sure how to handle it, but he tried.

"So, do you have some other witch to whom you've promised your Midnight Kiss?" Amalie asked in a charming French accent that Harry thought might be slightly exaggerated, swirling a bit of champagne—no Firewhisky at _this_ elite gathering of the Parisian Magicals, Harry surmised—in a crystal flute.

He felt his cheeks heat, but hoped it didn't show under the dimmed lighting from the chandeliers. Charmed instruments played themselves in an acoustic alcove and dancing couples occasionally interacted with those who were enjoying _hors d'oeuvres_. No one appeared to be drunk, though Harry guessed a certain level of tipsy familiarity was allowed. "Erm, no, Amalie. I haven't made a promise to any witch. You?" Nerves played under his skin and he gulped down the rest of his champagne.

She didn't appear to notice. Instead, she sipped her own and gazed up at him over the rim of her glass. "A wizard, then?"

"No, Merlin." He coughed and visually sought out Sirius with desperation. His dad was chatting up a woman near an open window. Snow lined the patio beyond, glittering and white under a clear black sky and, as he watched, Sirius led the brunette out of doors, his arm around the woman's slender waist to draw her close to himself. _Merlin. Is that what we're doing here?_ Harry wondered. "Nothing wrong with that, of course," he stammered. "Just, not for me, no."

Amalie's smile was sweet as she took his empty glass from him and sent them floating to the nearest table. "Would you consider promising it to me?"

He felt embarrassed to respond to the words so quickly. "I'd, I'd like that. Thank you."

"Come."

Without a rational thought, he allowed her to lead him swiftly through the crowd of celebrants, out another set of balcony doors. It was cold outside, but he cast a warming charm about them without asking and she smiled up into his eyes. "Very nice," she murmured.

Within the ballroom behind them, he could hear the music shift to what sounded like the classic _Auld Lang Syne_ , but with French lyrics. " _Bonne Année_ , Harry Potter-Black," Amalie said, turning to wind her slender, velvet-sleeved arms around his shoulders.

"Happy New Year, Amalie Bouchard." After taking a quick breath, he kissed her, remembering what to do and how to do it, though it had been years since he'd kissed anyone. Not since Hermione had died. But that night, as the old year turned, Harry enjoyed the sensations of yielding lips, feminine curves that pressed against his hardening muscles, and playful fingers that curled in his hair.

And when Amalie suggested they extend their private celebration, Harry was loath to deny her. Sirius, celebrating likewise, didn't mind at all.

* * *

 _ **January, 1999**_

Mistress Champlain shook her head sadly. "I am so sorry, my dear, but no. There were no letters for you, today."

With as brave a face as she could summon, Hermione nodded and thanked the woman who acted as Post Mistress for Ilvermony School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As the school was Unplottable, the post went to a central—plottable—locale and was collected regularly. Hermione had tried, three times now, to send letters to Harry, Sirius Black, and to Minerva McGonagall, but no one had deemed it needful to answer her. Her heart felt as if it were in pieces, but all those pieces still beat for Harry, the prat.

She was interrupted from her reverie by the clearing of a male throat.

"Now, here's a Portkey, Miss Dagworth," Headmaster Claude Bouchard said with a cautious smile. "In case you find yourself in over your head in your new coven." In the vestibule of the main hall of the Wizarding school, his voice seemed to skate over the polished granite surfaces. Behind the Headmaster, all wearing matching black robes with blue and gold piping, were several professors, all of whom wore expressions ranging from resigned to anticipatory.

Hermione gratefully accepted a small silver replica of the Le Château Frontenac. "This looks rather like Ilvermony."

"Well, our school didn't, originally, but we found this was suitable as the world moved into the 20th Century. To activate the Portkey, hold it in the palm of your hand and say, " _Je reviendrai_."

"I'll be back?" Hermione had to chuckle. "Have you seen _The Terminator_ movies?"

Headmaster Bouchard grinned, his dark eyes alight with laughter. "I'm a fan." He stepped back, his deep brown robes swirling impressively as if charmed to do so. "Well then, Miss Dagworth. Though you have not been one of ours, as we count such things, we have been honored to proctor your exams and to aid in furthering your education."

Hermione smirked just a bit but bowed her head in acknowledgment. "You've helped me to master wandless magic, and allowed me to study for my Charms mastery. Headmaster, you have all been so very kind. I can't repay your generosity." She had paid for her classes over the past year, but it was their availability and willingness to take in a stray, as she considered herself, that had touched her.

Bouchard inclined his head. "We wish you all the best in your endeavors, Miss Dagworth. Our wards are open to you." She blew out a surprised breath, but thanked him from her heart.

The other professors bade her private farewells, and Hermione wiped the tears from her cheeks as she left the school. It hadn't been Hogwarts or anything like it, but Ilvermony had accepted her on her own when her parents had betrayed her, and no one had intimated she could not do as she wished in terms of her studies and eventual career goals. They had let her study with them as individuals, absorbing what they knew of different aspects of Magic. As if she were taking her own favorite course of Independent Study.

It wasn't until later that she realized she'd never asked any of the professors to send mail in her stead to any of her contacts in England; she'd given up hearing from anyone.

She tucked the Ilvermony Portkey into a pocket and reached to her throat to take a firm hold of the one around her neck. Her new coven had sent the small bit of charmed quartz to her and she was eager to go to them. "K-weden-buk-wea," she stated, speaking each syllable clearly in the accent that had been demonstrated for her by the Indigenous Craft tutor at Ilvermony.

With that inevitable tug behind her navel, Hermione Dagworth disappeared from the American Northeast.

* * *

 _ **March, 1999**_

Albus knew he had a problem. Possibly two. Perhaps as many as three. Three was all that he considered, at any rate, as he rocked in a comforting Muggle rocking chair. The Dumbledores had long kept a small cottage on a bit of land in the Border Marches of Scotland. To be precise, along the River Esk.

The late winter's recent snow lingered near the roots of the low-branched trees. The Esk flowed sluggishly beyond them. Albus rocked in the chair, wrapped in a warming charm and smoking a pipe. His first problem, he acknowledged with a nod and a puff of smoke, was that Harry Potter had run off without telling him. An excitable lad, Harry, but he'd never hared off like he had that September. So he'd disappeared and wasn't allowing contact.

As far as Albus knew, Harry wasn't in contact with anyone save Sirius Black. He was "in Derbyshire", but any guest had no way of communicating the location. Albus had tried, and this was his first problem. He had contacts who were willing to accept his "retirement" from Hogwarts without questions. Periodic efforts to locate the reputedly warded, unplottable estate were fruitless. That was his second problem. Most worrisome of all was the third: Albus still didn't know what it was that had driven the lad away. But it had to have involved Lily Potter, for his former Potions Professor had left at the same time. Severus had gone to ground as well.

Shortly before the Spring Equinox, word reached Albus that Sirius Black had been seen in Paris. Though the man had disappeared by the time Albus had found the woman with whom he had spent the night, there, it was more of a lead that he had had before. He found the woman in a fashionable flat, surrounded by potions and parchments—likely a worthy match for Lord Black, if the man weren't such an unpredictable fellow.

The woman had her wand out in a heartbeat, but Albus only smiled when she made a protest about her vaunted wards. "I'm Albus Dumbledore; don't feel ashamed for the failure of your wards, _mademoiselle_." With a silent incantation, he had her disarmed and mostly immobile.

"So, _Mademoiselle_ Ermand," he said, sinking into a comfortable chair, his eyes twinkling though the woman in question was all but bound before him. "Tell me what you learned of _Monsieur_ Black."

The woman's throat seemed to convulse in the light of the candles. "I cannot! I was made to make a vow to him. So that no information could be elicited from me about him or his son."

"Ah, so he was with his son, then? Were they _here_ together? Do you know if they live in Paris, or were they visiting?" He paused between questions, almost amused to see how she had to fight to keep the words within herself. Her ability to Occlude her mind was impressive; no doubt why Sirius chose her for his little dalliance. "Did you _see_ Harry Potter?"

He could see the struggle in her dark, Gallic eyes, see the tension in her long, graceful neck. Like a young boy's, her throat was. Lovely. "I cannot tell you," she insisted between gritted teeth. Even under duress, the lady kept her composure.

Dumbledore decided to be kind. "Very well, _Mademoiselle_. _Obliviate_."

He left her, there in the empty hotel room in Paris, with no idea of what she'd almost been made to tell. Telling him anything would have deprived her of her magic, and Albus was not yet quite that desperate. It was enough that she would have no memories of his interrogation.

* * *

 _A/N: Remember, now, as far as Harry knows, Hermione's been dead for about **two and a half years**._

 _Sneak Peek for Chapter Six will be available on my tumblr! Posting will happen on Friday. :)_


	6. Sanguis

_**A/N: Katmom** is the best. And she makes great baklava. I know this personally because she sent me some. :)_

 _Many of you are concerned about Hermione. "Sauce for the goose" I believe was one phrase used. I will have to ask you to trust me. *cough*_

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

 ** _1999_**

"Harry. The goblins said you might need a curse-breaker, but they didn't say why."

The summer sun made a warm, welcome appearance in Hogsmeade that day near the end of June. Harry shaded his eyes as he glanced up to study Bill Weasley's face. "They weren't wrong," he allowed after a few moments. Bill's eyes were clear, but there was a degree of tension about him that Harry felt was at odds with the day. Not an excited, new-adventure-in-curse-breaking kind of tension, either. More of a sadness. "You all right?" he asked, keeping his tone even and quiet.

Bill leaned against the wall outside of the Leaky Cauldron, but he'd darted his focus away from Harry. "Fine. Just. You know." He dragged both hands through his long red hair before tying it back with a leather cord. "Why?"

"Because," Harry said, endeavoring to be firm but compassionate, "if you're carrying a lot of negative energy in with you when we go looking for this, this thing, it can feed off of that. This could make the job harder."

"It's Fleur. Nothing life-threatening." He winced visibly and offered Harry a silent apology. "Just, she found her actual mate—You knew she was part Veela, right? and—"

Harry dropped his gaze. "Yeah. Sorry, I didn't know that had happened. Look, you don't have to do this, you know."

Bill shook his head and pushed off the wall. "I want to. C'mon, Potter. Let's go. How's my little brother breaking us in?"

With a nod and a grin, Harry patted his chest, where an inner pocket of his robes contained the Marauders' Map. "Through Honeydukes, actually. And I'll need you to take a Wizard's Oath if you want to stick with me on this, Bill."

Interest clearly piqued, Bill lost his air of melancholy. "Well, the goblins are behind you, so I am as well. Does Ron know?"

"He does," Harry said as they strode quickly down bright lanes on the High Street until they got to Honeydukes. "So do I have your oath?"

"As soon as we get out of public viewing!" Bill shook his head, his lips tilted in a half-smile.

Harry privately congratulated himself for having nudged the older man past his heartbroken moment. He'd had a lot of practice at that himself, and it seemed that he was now able to help others. Well, that was something wasn't it? "Right, then. I have my cloak, but there's no way the two of us will fit under it."

With a snort, Bill assured him he could Disillusion himself effectively as soon as they entered the store. "Nice thing about Wizarding venues," he murmured after they'd entered the pleasantly cool shop, "is that there isn't any of that Muggle security stuff. Dad's told me about some of it, and I've been to Muggle London often enough to see for myself. Cameras that watch the same place all bloody day? Who has time to monitor that?"

Harry, in a series of small movements he'd perfected over the years, withdrew his cloak and moved to a darker corner of the sweet shop. "Well, to be honest, no one ever watches those recordings in most shops unless there's a robbery or attack or some such."

Bill paused and, seeing a basket of Chocolate Frogs, held up a hand in a wordless bid for Harry to wait a moment. "Sounds like a waste of Galleons to me. Let me get some of these for Ron."

After Bill had done his shopping and the pair of them were invisible and mostly invisible, respectively, Harry reached back for Bill's hand. "Not getting fresh, honest," he whispered more or less where he hoped Bill's head was. "Just the best way to do this."

Bill's answering chuckle was quiet enough to go unnoticed. They slipped around to the back room, and Harry led the way through the hidden entrance to the underground passage. "How long has this been here, Harry?" Bill asked once they were safely shut away from the sweet shop. He canceled the Disillusionment charm. "Did you and Ron and Her—" He broke off with a question on his face that Harry answered by removing the cloak and nodding. "Hermione make this happen?"

The ache, Harry was sure, would always be with him, but it hurt a lot less of late, so he was able to smile and shake his head. "Nope. I'm not sure who developed the original tunnels, but the Marauders certainly took advantage of them. And so have I. So . . ."

"The Oath. Right." Bill pledged to hold Harry's secret sacred or risk his magic. "So, what are we looking for?"

Harry cast a _Lumos_ with his wand and moved down the passage as he spoke about the Horcruxes and what they hoped to find. "We're going to try the Room of Requirement, first," he said offhandedly as they approached the stone slide that marked the beginning of the passage on the Hogwarts end.

"Wait, what?"

From the darkness ahead and above them, they could hear Ron's laugh. "Just you wait. You think you're a badass with all your curse-breaking? You've not seen the likes of Harry Potter, here."

" _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," Harry murmured, setting Bill up to float to Ron. The older man shouted in surprise as he was moved into the dark air, but Ron just told him to keep his gob shut and pulled him into the solid and level passage above. Then, Ron cast the same charm at Harry, who had been expecting it.

Soon, all three young men were making their Disillusioned way to the seventh floor and the Room of Requirement. Harry grinned, though neither of the redheads could see him. Today. Today he was beginning to fulfill his destiny. Neville and Hermione had not died in vain.

And once he got these out of the way, he could focus on Dumbledore. His mother would be avenged.

 **. . . .**

"Crikey Moses!" Harry slapped one hand on his forehead whilst pushing the other one out in a desperate, silent bid for support.

Ron shot him a curious expression. "Oi! What?"

"Something I heard at a movie," Harry muttered, still pressing his forehead.

They were in the Room of Requirement—which had shaken even the cool of William Weasley, Curse-Breaker Extraordinaire—and had decided that they should stick together initially.

It hadn't taken long for Bill to get shifty. "I don't like something in here, Harry," he'd said within minutes of entering the room.

Ron hadn't said anything, taking his cue from Harry himself. He was a pillar of sturdy reliability as they poked carefully about the cluttered chamber.

Harry, though, was fighting a throbbing, tugging urgency that seemed to be centered in the back of his head but was trying to force its way out the front. Ron caught his questing hand and held him steady; Bill divided his attention between Harry and the nearest pile of unrelated items. "Harry."

"What?"

Bill noted that the younger man's face was white, save for the nearly pulsating mark on his forehead, now that he'd dropped his hand. "Breathe in, lad."

"I'm not. A lad."

Bill wisely didn't chuckle. "Right. Sorry." Ron glared at him but Bill shrugged that off. "I want you to see if you can determine where the pain is the worst, so we know if it's, well, a strange sort of indicator for what we're seeking, all right?" He didn't want to say the word _Horcrux_ , but he was thinking it, right enough.

Harry grimaced and shook his head with an abrupt jerk. "All right." With slow deliberation, he turned toward a pile of what he could only deem _junk_ to his left. A spindly chair that could have been from the 18th Century was underneath a folded, dusty cloak. Atop that, a candelabra, from which dangled what appeared to be a Christmas ornament, a pair of purple socks, and a necklace. Harry took two steps toward it and steeled himself against the return of the sharp, stabbing jolt that had caught him unawares just moments before.

"All right there, Harry?" Ron murmured just behind him.

"Yeah. Nothing hurts any worse, here, anyway."

Ron clapped his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Good."

"Now, go to the other pile," Bill directed with a small hand gesture. He hadn't moved since Harry had first felt pain. "What kind of thing might we be looking for, anyway?"

Blowing out a breath, Harry moved as directed. "Erm. Ravenclaw's Diadem or Hufflepuff's Cup, I think. Riddle had his eye on those things, but Dumbledore—" He pronounced the man's name with a venomous edge, "—didn't know where they would be stored. I figured one at least might be here." He sucked in a breath through his teeth, his feet dragging on the stone floor as he moved such a short distance. Bill had bluebell lights floating over them, following them as they moved about, but the light suddenly seemed too dim for the chamber. "This feels all wrong, Bill."

Ron held his arm for a moment. "Take a breath, mate. You're not alone, you know?"

"Thanks, Ron."

Bill nodded, but didn't move otherwise. "Look, if it's really painful or something—what happened with the others you've found?"

"Screams? In the diary?" Harry would talk about that rather than go closer to the other pile of accumulated items that belonged in a Muggle Lost and Found.

"If it's worse than that, freeze, and we'll move you out of the way. Right, Ron?"

"Right!"

Harry tried to calm the racing of his heart and the rush of nervous sweat he could feel trickling down his back. Step. Step. Step.

The urgency in the back of his brain spiked with painful immediacy. "Merlin's bollocks," he ground out between clenched teeth. "It's here, I'm pretty sure." Though he wanted to close his eyes against the pain, Harry focused on the pile in front of him. "How do I do this, Bill?"

The older man's face was pale when he whispered, "Your scar's bleeding. Here, let me try this, all right?"

It was a feat of intuition, but Bill trusted his gut. He'd had to, over the years. He dipped the tip of his wand to Harry's bleeding forehead. "What I'm going to do is see if your blood holds the key for this, since it's trying to get out of you. I'll put it on my wand and see if the blood will lead to the Horcrux."

Ron shook his head and gripped both of Harry's shoulders. "That's Dark, Bill. No."

Harry held up a hand. "No, Ron. This is Dark Magic we're working with. It makes sense. Go ahead, Bill."

The trick with blood magic, Bill had learned, was to keep the blood on the wand as much as possible, and away from a man's own skin. Once blood came into contact with another person during the working of a curse, it interacted adversely with the caster. He swiped the tip of his wand over the blood issuing from Harry's forehead and then nudged the younger man away.

"Wait. No, Bill, this is my—"

"It's still yours," Bill murmured, standing in front of Harry and Ron, wand pointed at the pile of collected things. "But you don't have to do everything, Mister Potter. Sometimes, it's all right to let another man stand in the gap, you know?"

Ron tugged Harry to a point where they were still able to watch what was happening but where Harry wasn't in so much pain. Bill noted this out of the corner of his eye, but mostly he was focused on the items before him. "All right, then," he muttered. "What is it that has a bit of that dark bastard, eh? _Tenebris magicae quaerere_."

At the incantation, the tip of his wand, covered in Harry's blood, dipped up and then down before jerking forward. It was almost like using a dowsing rod; a parallel that Bill would find apt and easy to explain later. He moved forward, following the motions of the wand, letting his hand be guided until Harry's blood dripped from the wand tip to fall on a bejeweled diadem. An oval sapphire dominated the diadem, but there was a gold band under it that had words etched into the surface. " _Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure,"_ he read out loud.

"Don't touch it!" Ron shouted, sounding desperate. "The diary, well, it made Ginny all wrong, and you're more powerful. Could be worse!"

Bill nodded. "You're right. So, then. We have to destroy it. Curse-breaking. It's what I do. You had to destroy the diary, right?"

"I stabbed it with a fang from a basilisk," Harry answered, his tone pained but wry. "And it screamed and—"

"Piercing, then. All right." He cast the Piercing Charm, a helpful charm associated with building and other works of creation, to no avail. The light bounced up and down and they all ducked as the bluebell lights were extinguished.

They were left in the dark until Ron cast a quick _Lumos_. "What the bleeding hell was that, Bill?" his brother asked sharply, his face a pale oval in the dark chamber.

"Oops?"

"Oops." Harry repeated, his tone flat. "Right, then. Stronger than that charm, Mister Curse-Breaker?" He breathed out a loud sigh before conjuring some more bluebell lights above them.

Bill winced to see the resignation on the younger men's faces. "Blasting Curse?"

"Well, I'm hiding if you're going to use that," Ron stated unequivocally. "Harry? What's that shield that Hermione taught you before the First Task?"

"Protego Maxima," Harry replied, able to smile, at last, at a memory of Hermione. "It should do, if something goes wrong."

With a nod, Bill gestured they should move back. "Sounds like a good plan, Harry. Cast away." When he heard the shield was cast, Bill focused on the diadem once more. " _Confringo_!" he shouted, pulling as much power as he could into his voice and out through his wand. _Destroy the diadem. Destroy it. Kill the spirit piece. Destroy it._

To his gratification, the diadem did indeed bend and twist and Bill wiped sweat from his forehead. "I think we got it done, lads!"

Ron and Harry ventured closer, the bluebell lights following them. They exchanged a look that sent Bill's stomach plummeting. "Er, Bill? It didn't scream," Ron said.

"Did you see anything . . . odd?" Harry asked, his brows rising high into his scarred forehead. "Like a vision that made you angry or, or jealous? Did it seem to, well, talk to you?"

A chill enveloped the Curse-Breaker. A clammy foreboding he'd encountered before, deep underground in foreign lands. "No. And I'm guessing that means this isn't done yet."

A pair of heads shook back and forth. "Nope."

"Only other thing I know that is more powerful is Fiendfyre. But it's bloody dangerous. So, it's your call, Harry."

There was a sudden maturity on Harry's face in that moment. A cast to his features, the considering tilt of his head, that struck Bill as the younger man thought and thought hard.

"Can you cast Fiendfyre?" Harry asked softly, his gaze steady but not expectant.

Ron gasped. "Harry!"

Harry held up a hand toward his friend. "No. If it works, Ron, we have to do whatever it takes."

Bill pressed his lips, considering it. "I can, yes. But not here. I'd want to be someplace enclosed."

"The dungeons," Ron suggested with a shrug. "Only snakes down there."

"Ron!" Bill and Harry protested in unison.

"I'll ask the goblins," Bill went on to say. "They've got spaces deep underground that no human has ever seen. They might have a place safe enough to destroy one of these."

Still at a distance away, Harry asked, "Do you have something to carry that out of here?"

"What kind of a Curse-Breaker do you think I am?" Bill pulled a bespelled, dragonhide pouch from a pocket and shook it out.

Harry grinned and ran a hand over his hair. "An extremely cool one."

Bill eyed the younger man's forehead for a moment. Blood still shone wetly from the lightning bolt scar and he had an idea. "Harry. Don't get angry, but I was wondering if I could have some more of your blood?"

* * *

 ** _Arizona, January 2000_**

Much as she had sat lessons with Binns to learn about the History of Magic in her Hogwarts years, Hermione was sitting lessons, after a fashion, with the wise storytellers of the Yavapai Magicals. She was experiencing an entirely different way of life, here in the American Southwest. Wands were rare, here. Focus was often provided via chants, crystals, and totem objects, and the legends of the people gave as much direction as a textbook.

"Komwidapokuwia was chosen by her people to rise above the flood waters," Adam Quanah was saying. He was a man of Yavapai and Apache descent, she had learned, and a widower. He had black hair that flowed like liquid obsidian down his back. His face was long and lean, his dark eyes hooded and wary most of the time. He usually wore contemporary clothes, but when he was in what she called Storyteller Mode, he adopted traditional costume: buckskins and beaded bracelets. No feathered head-dresses among this coven. They were a humble, earthy people, taking pride in the quality of their arts rather than flamboyant displays.

And their magical skills were mind-blowing.

"She wondered whether she would be all alone in the world once the flood waters had receded, but she did not give up. She summoned her strength and climbed to the nearest mountain peak, where she decided to rest under the warmth of the sun. The sun shone on her, warming water to soothe her, and the water even impregnated her, so that she gave birth to a daughter. All of us are descended from her."

Hermione was the only one in the group who was older than ten. She was just as enthralled as the children, though, and followed along as Adam stepped to a small, sun-warmed fountain that burbled up from a rock. Water was precious in the desert, of course, so these spaces were treasured.

Adam beckoned them to draw near to the murmuring spring. "Water gives life." He cupped his hands and collected some of the clear water. "Come. Try some. This is charmed water and we can all share it."

Hermione cocked her brow at the offering; she had been here for months, learning and living with what was called the Montezuma Coven—named for the "castle" that was built into a local cliff face—and she had found her English constitution did not match the desert offerings on first introduction. Still, she was learning. She sent the teacher a look that was meant to convey her wariness.

He, of course, understood entirely but he wasn't going to let her get away without sipping at the water, either. "Here, My-oh," he murmured, holding his cupped hands to her lips. "It won't make you ill, I promise."

She arched a brow at the nickname—Adam loved nicknames—and he smiled into her eyes. She felt her skin heat and hoped it wouldn't show, but of course it did. She knew it did. Still, she directed her gaze away from his and took a tiny sip from his cupped palms.

Nothing happened. She blinked and looked up at him again, to find that he'd moved away.

Well. That rather heated moment for herself been unexpected. _I love Harry Potter. Even if he's Harry Potter-Black!_

 _Yes, and? Chemistry can happen even so, and it's been a long time since, well. Well._

 _A long time, indeed. And it's not as if_ he's _not seeing people_.

She grimaced as she Disillusioned herself before Apparating back to the small house she was calling home for the present. Now that she was reinstated fully into the Wizarding world, she got news of people. Reading about her former boyfriend being seen out for a European evening with one witch or another had been devastating at first.

Every single one of the women whom the papers speculated upon was a _blonde_. They almost all had blue or green eyes.

Maybe Harry had only been with her because she'd been . . . around? And helpful? And safe? Maybe he hadn't been . . . attracted to her like that? They hadn't had a lot of opportunity to explore _that_ too far, so maybe . . . ?

Her eyes burned, her heart ached, and she wished she didn't love him so much. Still. Even now.

* * *

 ** _August, 2000_**

Europe had yielded next to nothing. Dumbledore had asked his many contacts, including those at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, but had heard only that Harry Potter-Black had been seen in Paris, Munich, and Amsterdam occasionally. Which he already knew. He felt, on occasion, that he was being followed or observed, but sometimes that was because he was, as his visage was not unknown abroad, and he hadn't always bothered to glamour himself. He passed off his reappearance as being on holiday and everyone smiled and wished him well.

He eventually ignored the feelings, as so often they turned out that way, and turned his attention back to England and a certain former Auror who had been his friend for some decades.

He found Alastor Moody.

It hadn't taken long, really. He just had to wait—and pay others to wait—in various pubs in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. The last one he visited was the Hog's Head Inn. He performed a glamour on himself again, so that he wouldn't be recognized, and stepped slowly into the pub to claim a seat at the bar. He knew that his white hair would not be remarked upon—many wizards had such, in this day and age—but he'd charmed his skin to carry an olive hue and his eyes were dark, like Severus Snape's. During his most recent travels, Albus had chosen to wear less flamboyant robes, as well, as the European communities tended to prefer their wizards to appear distinguished and underplayed.

He'd never understand the French.

So, when he perched on a stool in his brother's pub, he expected to go unnoticed until he found a likely pair of eyes that would do his watching for him. Instead, despite the dim lighting, the low ceiling, and the general work-day mutterings, he was recognized.

"Merlin, Albus." Aberforth sighed heavily, shaking his head as he wiped the bar off with a dingy cloth. "Told you time and again that you're not welcome here." He coughed and shuffled a bit nearer. "Though, I know a few folks that would be glad to know your location. Where've you been?"

"How'd you know it was me?" was Albus's first question, followed quickly by, "Who's wondering?"

Aberforth shook his head and grabbed a bottle from under the bar. Wiping it off with his sleeve—the cleanliness of which, Albus would not have wagered on—he drew in a long draught. "You cannot hide your true self from me, who knows your blackest heart, Albus. I can see through you. And _everyone's_ wondering. The Headmaster of Hogwarts disappeared in a puff of smoke, like the veriest Muggle player at trickery, so the story goes. I am known to be your brother; they come here for word of you. _Is he well? Is he hunting You Know Who?_ " The innkeeper made a derogatory sound before taking another long drink. "I tell them nothing, by the way. Because I know nothing. And I want to keep it that way. So leave."

"I will leave, now, and gladly," Albus said with what he hoped was a pleasant, patient expression. "If you will do me one favor."

His brother abruptly turned from him to go wipe down bottles on the other end of the bar.

Resigned to waiting, Albus made as if to summon a bottle of his own—he and Aberforth had a longstanding relationship regarding alcohol—when a heavy foot kicked open the front door to the inn.

"Aberforth! A bottle of your best Ogden's."

Albus Dumbledore hid his relief and surprise under a white fall of hair. "Alastor," he said in a voice he hoped would carry to his old friend. "I've been wanting to see you."

"Bugger me, Merlin! Where the bleeding hell have you been, man?"

Albus utterly appreciated that _Constant Vigilance_ remained Alastor's watchword. "Thank you for not calling my name out loud, my friend." He cast the _Muffliato_ that young Snape had designed decades before. "I've been looking for someone," he said into the muffled space.

Alastor thanked Aberforth for the bottle of Ogden's with an absent gesture. "Who? Can I help?"

"I'm really hoping you can, old friend. I'm looking for Harry. Harry Potter-Black."

* * *

 _ **August, 2000**_

"I'm looking for Hermione Granger. She's a Muggle-born and would have been a transfer student here," the woman stated in a Scots accent.

Claude Bouchard, Headmaster of the Ilvermony School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, blinked owlishly at the woman. "Granger? I have no _Granger_ in my files," he stated with all sincerity. "Whom may I ask is inquiring?"

In the comfortable office—decorated in the Hollywood Regency Style popularized by the Muggle film industry in the 1930s—the witch stiffened her spine. "I am Minerva McGonagall. Currently Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland."

"And you're seeking this Miss, Miss _Granger,_ why?"

"She has been the victim of a grave injustice, and I wanted to inform her and, hopefully, help her to reintegrate into her former, well, society. I understood her to have been a student, here."

Headmaster Bouchard kept his expression placid and polite, but inside, he was seething. He remembered Hermione, of course, and knew much of what she had endured. He was personally relieved she was out from the English idiocy, as well as away from her parents. Whom he brought up next to distract McGonagall. "Why do you seek her here? Why not try her parents, if she was a student?"

The green-eyed woman shifted a bit uncomfortably. "Well. They took her from England and declared their wish for her never to return. I've met them, but do not feel that seeing them again would be of any use." She sighed. "And even if I didn't feel that way, they seem to have disappeared."

"The Muggles do have their own ways of disappearing, we have found," Bouchard remarked. "I am sorry, but I cannot help you." He stood in silent dismissal.

Minerva McGonagall nodded as she rose to her feet likewise. "Thank you for your time. If you do happen to hear from this non-existent former student," she said, her tone clearly illustrating her understanding that Bouchard was hiding something from her, "please let her know I was inquiring after her. Certain . . . certain parties are no longer a concern and she would be welcomed back if she chose to come."

Claude Bouchard bowed his head in acknowledgment. "If I meet Hermione Granger, I will pass along your message."

Hermione had not been inclined to keep in touch, however, and Claude was content to know that she had put a great deal of distance between herself and those who had wounded her so deeply, physically and emotionally. He would make no effort whatsoever to pass along the message, though, he decided as he reclaimed his chair, he would do so if Hermione _Granger_ did indeed ask him if he'd heard from anyone.

* * *

 _A/N: Headmaster Bouchard is not a bad guy. He's honestly trying to protect Hermione and he's honestly unhappy with his (limited!) understanding of events._

 _Next chapter will be up on Tuesday, and a sneak peek will be on my tumblr this weekend. See you then!_


	7. Conversatio

_**A/N:** Many thanks to everyone who is reading and adding QA to their lists! And a special curtsy to those who review! I enjoy getting the opportunity to interact with you. __And thanks, as always, to **Katmom the Amazing**. . . who didn't see parts of this so if I leave you scratching your head, please know it's not her fault._

 _Remember, this is AU. My Horcrux Theory doesn't strictly align with canon._

* * *

 **Chapter Seven **

**_March, 2001_**

"The crystal is a much better focus than a wand," Hermione admitted reluctantly to her mentor. They were relaxing in the cool aftermath of a delicious spring rain, sitting on waterproofed blankets on the flat top of an enormous granite boulder. The air held the scent of earth and sky, of expended power from lightning, and of mineral water.

A desert thunderstorm was amazing, before, during, and after.

Adam offered her half a smile. "Haven't I been telling you that? Now, surprise me."

She quirked a grin and wrapped one fist around the milky white crystal that hung from a chain of silver at her throat. " _Expecto Patronum_!"

"My-oh!" Adam said on a gasp, rolling up to his feet to see the majestic bear Patronus. "We don't have this, this chant, here." He glanced briefly at Hermione, who was still seated and smiling at the misty creature. "What is it called?"

"It's a Patronus. A guardian. They act as shields and defenders against dark creatures. Creatures made of Dark Magic, I mean, not people who might be using dark magics. This is a brown bear, but it's not the only form a Patronus can take. They're individual to the caster. My, my _teacher_ , Harry Potter, had a stag for a guardian. He named it Prongs." The bear wavered before ambling slowly off the boulder into the thin, fresh air.

Adam watched it go before sitting again—this time, nestled next to her on her blanket so that his arm brushed hers and his long hair rode a curling of a breeze to tickle her shoulder. "You miss him still?"

"I do," she murmured, unwilling to meet Adam's gaze. "But it is not mutual, so I am endeavoring to move past it." Then, she smiled a little and rested her head briefly against her mentor's shoulder. "I should find a new memory for my Patronus, though."

Carefully, trying to be both friend and more, Adam encircled Hermione's shoulders with one arm. "Well, you could teach me to call a guardian. We have called upon many different guardians in our tribal magic, but I've never seen a Patronus. Can you only call one in Latin?"

At last, she turned and looked him in the eye and Adam smiled to see the bright interest in hers. "You know, I've never tried to use any other language for her. My Patronus, I mean. Can you call, 'I await the guardian' in Pai?"

He said the phrase in the language his people used most often among themselves and she seemed to track every syllable as if it were etched in the air between them. "Beautiful," she whispered, her focus then on his lips.

Adam was not one to waste an opportunity. He leaned his head down and, repeating "beautiful" in the dialect of the Pai, he took her mouth with his.

* * *

 ** _19 September 2001_**

"There is something different, expectant about you this morning," Adam remarked as she returned from her morning jog to see him at his workshop. It had become their pattern, over the months.

She blushed. "It's stupid," she confessed. "But it's my birthday and I always kind of hope for . . . something? I guess?" Shrugging she reached for one of the small, battery-powered fans Adam kept for comfort and directed it toward her face.

His expression shifted in an instant from "polite interest" to "avid pursuit" and Hermione was surprised by the warring reactions of welcome and worry she felt. He had kissed her a few times over the past months, but had not made any further overtures in a physical manner. She was grateful for his attention, grateful for his restraint as well, but she had always wondered about it.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?"

His blunt question made her balk, but she'd heard a lot of blunt talk among the Americans so she nodded. "I am. Why?"

He grinned, a flash of light seeming to frame him in magic for a moment. "I have a gift for you and you have one for me."

She laughed and looked away toward the sun's rising, feeling her blush paint her skin. "You're not a virgin, Adam."

"No, but. Have you ever sought to grow your magical center through ritual?"

A chill swept over her. "No. That's, that's Dark Magic, Adam Quanah, and I'll have none of it."

He wiped his hands on a small blue towel and came around his work bench, catching at her arm when she stepped to move aside for his passage. "No, it's not. There's a rite, a rite of a virgin's power, that we can do. It is done to enlarge the magical possibilities for the virgin as well as blessing he or she who relieves them of that . . . state."

"So I'd have, what, more magic?" He nodded and she bit her lip, thinking. "Do you have any lessons on this, Adam? I'd like to know more."

His expression softened, no longer playful or predatory. "Of course. Tonight, I'll take to you Julia, my grandmother. She'll explain everything."

Relieved that he wasn't going to press her further, Hermione smiled. "I'd like that."

 **. . . .**

"My-oh, oh My-oh, yes, just like that, sweet dove. My bear, my beauty."

She cried in pain and pleasure, not understanding fully each of Adam's words, but vowing to become more much proficient in the Pai tongue. "Oh, I feel—"

"Me, too," he said, his breath heavy and choppy. She felt him still above her, his mouth at her throat, one arm supporting her, the other himself. "Hold on, now, My-oh. It might be a bit—"

"Adam!" Hermione felt as if a bomb had exploded in her sternum, a light, a heat, a power that threatened to wrench bone from sinew. "What the hell?" she demanded with a broken voice. Then, she recalled Old Julia's words.

 _It is a gift, but there is payment, too. Pain, as in all things new. As a child cannot breathe without the mother's tear, so may not your magic grow without facing fear._

Adam slid from her, wrapping her tightly in sweat-slick arms. "I have you, My-oh. You're going to be fine. Shh, shh… I know it hurts, but it will pass."

Hermione nodded, trying to ride the waves of pain as she had been advised, not long before. "I know it will, Adam, and thank you."

"I confess to you, My-oh, that as much as you've shown your _regard_ for Harry Potter-Black, I did not totally believe you _were_ a virgin until tonight." He winced to see the disappointment in her face as he kept her close to his cooling body. "This is the twenty-first century, you know."

"You thought I'd lied to you?"

"Not exactly," he temporized. "Just that you might not have wanted anyone to know, seeing how things turned out." She huffed and pushed away from him and he let her, tugging the thin cotton sheet to cover their bodies. He didn't let the conversation go likewise, however. "I've read the papers, you know."

"So have I." She rubbed at the enormous scar that he could see bisecting her torso.

He ventured to trace it as well, not wanting to intrude but wanting her to know that he cared for her beyond the virgin power ritual. "He seems a powerful man?"

"He is. A great wizard. The prat."

Adam chuckled. "Ah, there's the English accent. It's been gone for awhile, now."

She rolled to face him again, the sheet clutched at her breasts. "I like the way you talk, here."

"I like the way you do a lot of things," he countered. When she smiled, he kissed her again and there was no more talk of Harry Potter-Black for a long while.

* * *

 ** _November, 2001_**

" _Expecto Patronum_ ," Hermione called, gripping the crystal at her throat. Her bear appeared to materialize in front of her, about an arm's length away. "See, Julia?"

Adam's grandmother lived in a small house that, like most of the homes here on the magical reservation, looked smaller and shabbier on the exterior than the interior. The woman had an ageless appearance to her. Discreet inquiry had uncovered her age to be seventy-nine, but she could have been anywhere from sixty to ninety, Hermione reckoned. Raven-wing hair with gleaming streaks of pepper gray was braided into a crown atop her head. She dressed in layers, mostly comprised of woven shawls and aprons, it seemed, over a cotton dress. And her boots were leather.

She spoke in a rough, gravel-filled voice, as if she'd had her throat stolen from her and misused terribly before it was returned. Black eyes still retained their twinkle, however, when Julia smiled. "Ah, there she is. Adam told me about her."

The bear rose up on her hind legs, snout moving this way and that before she fell to all fours and started toward the spare room off the living area. "Where's she going?" Hermione wondered out loud.

Julia stiffened, her many layered figure seeming to be turned into a pillar of granite for a moment before she said, "Call her back."

"I can't!"

The bear lumbered into the spare room, through the closed door, and then ran out, circling Hermione in a way that would have destroyed all the furniture if the bear had been less ethereal and more corporeal. "She wants me to go with her," Hermione surmised.

Julia sighed and muttered something under her breath that sounded like, "He warned me" or something like it. "Have a care, there, young lady," was what she said in a more audible range.

Hermione didn't even consider that she was breaking all kinds of social rules when she cast a silent _Alohamora_ on the closed door. It opened for her and the bear waited within, poised with her snout pointed at a small box. "I see it, girl. Thank you." The bear rose to her hind legs before falling again and stepping off through the exterior wall. Hermione watched her go before approaching the box. The scar on her chest tugged and heated and she swallowed a hard knot from her throat. "Julia?

"I don't advise it, My-oh." Julia stepped slowly to the worn, wooden box, waving her hand over it so that it opened. "But, Adam has told me you're basically fearless, and you have an affinity for mysteries, so, here's one."

"Dark. Julia, what is this?"

"I don't know, My-oh, and that's the truth. It's Dark Magic, as you've said. I was surprised that your guardian found it, what with the wards I've placed." Julia coughed a bit and shuffled to sit on the polished rocking chair, leaving the box open.

Hermione felt the repellant compulsion in her torso as she stepped closer to the box. "It's just . . . a decoration? With the leather? But why is it so _dark_?" Her breath stuck in her throat and she had to really put forth an effort to keep the air moving in and out. "What happened to this, Julia?"

The older woman heaved a rough sigh. "We don't know. I am its guardian, however. If you know of a way to destroy dark artifacts, or the magic within them, I . . ."

Hermione dragged her gaze from the strip of leather, tied to a feather and a bit of thick, white rock. Was it a less translucent form of the milky quartz that she used as her focus in place of her wand? "Which part is dark, Julia?" she asked in a rasping voice, curious and itching to touch the little parcel but wary of so doing. She remembered the diary from her second year and didn't want anything to possess her will as Tom Riddle had done Ginny Weasley's.

"The stone. The stone is what has been passed down for, oh, more years than I know, that's for certain." The chair creaked as Julia rocked in it. "My mother tied the leather and feather on it to try to, well, diffuse its power."

Hermione watched as Julia's eyes teared up. "What happened?" she asked softly.

"She lost her mind and wandered the desert for weeks. When we found her, well, she wasn't herself any more."

Blowing out a breath, Hermione turned back to the box. Harry had something going on with his scar, that she knew. It was a rune, Sowlio. It ached when he was under attack from Voldemort. In the years since she'd been taken from England, in the years Harry had ignored her, Hermione had not been idle. She'd studied. And she'd come to believe that the scar on Harry's forehead was not a lightning bolt shaped thing that had come as a result of the Killing Curse. Rather, she believed that it was a rune, placed there for his protection. Maybe the very night Voldemort attacked.

"Sowlio," she whispered now, the name of the rune taking shape in the air before her lips. Julia gasped and Hermione couldn't withhold her smile. "It's protection. Strength. Honor. Light victorious over Dark."

"My-oh, no one dares to touch that crystal to carve any rune into it. It'll drive you crazy and then what will I tell my grandson?"

"Tell him, tell him he gave me a gift and now I'm giving you one. Do you want to observe or leave to be safe?"

Julia made an impatient sound and, one hand on the purple crystal around her neck, she spoke a ward into being around herself.

Hermione smiled and nodded. "As you wish." Then, she focused her mind, brought the desired rune, charm, and incantation to the forefront of her thoughts, and began.

"Sowlio," she murmured again, willing the power of the rune to protect her as she removed the chain from her neck so that she might use the crystal as a tool. " _Defodio_ ," she said more firmly, placing the point of the crystal on the Dark Crystal in the box. Thinking of the rune, she used the Gouging Charm very carefully, etching a protected form as a ward, guard, and shield. She could feel her chest warm as she worked, the new power at her core rising to the occasion of this difficult warding. Then, when she had the lightning-shaped rune firmly etched, she added, " _Sempiturnum_!" to make it permanent.

The feather in the box waved as if caught on a current of air. The leather seemed to smooth itself out, and the square of milk-white crystal had Sowlio carved into it. "It worked," she whispered, thrilled, excited, but also rather frightened. "I think it worked."

Julia canceled her wards and rocked up and out of her chair, slowly approaching the younger woman. She'd seen Hermione Dagworth's face take on a glow that was spoken of in legend, certainly, and she planned on telling her grandson so in private. At that moment, though, the old woman gave a thought to the Spirits of her people and reached bravely into the box she'd guarded almost her entire life.

There was nothing to feel. Just the very earthy normal textures of stone, leather, and a bird's feather. Marshaling her composure with some effort, she nodded to the young woman. "I think it worked as well." She eyed the crystal still in Hermione's right hand. "Put that back on, I think, and take this. You have shown mastery over it and it is your right."

"But—but it's—"

At that, Julia had to laugh, long and loud. "Everything has a consequence, My-oh. Didn't you learn that at school?"

* * *

 ** _January, 2002_**

Severus Snape cleared the chair of books. "Minerva, please sit down."

She complied, lips twisted in irritation. "Why you are living here, in the back of beyond, I will never understand, Severus. I still haven't forgiven you, you know."

He sighed and glanced out his study's sole window to see the barren, windswept winter landscape of the Border where he'd chosen to live for the time being. "I know." They'd had that discussion before, over the years "I asked you here to tell you that _he_ has gone hunting."

"You never say his name," Minerva remarked, crossing her ankles with precision. "Why?"

"I have made a vow not to divulge certain information without the explicit permission of certain parties. Suffice it to say, I am spying on _him_ now and reporting to you."

"The Order has appreciated your efforts to report on You Know Who. And I trust that your news today will be of note?"

Severus leaned against his desk and avoided looking at Minerva's face. "Today, I speak not of the former Headmaster. _He_ is the Dark Lord. He has been recruiting abroad, thinking that others would be more ruthless than British Death Eaters." He glanced down at his left arm impassively, too used to guilt and regret to let them show on his face. "I expect there to be a winnowing process this spring, here and abroad."

Minerva's nostrils flared. "Here?"

"Indeed."

"I'll pass that along, Severus. Are you sure you cannot come back to us?"

He shook his head sharply. "I can't let the former Headmaster have any idea of where I am."

"What happened?" Minerva demanded, leaning forward. "It's been years, Severus. Surely, you can tell _me_ what prompted you and Mister Potter-Black to leave!"

"I cannot. As I said, I made a vow. Suffice it to say, Minerva, that I shan't willingly speak with him again. I am, however, watching him. He's . . ." How to phrase it? "He is making an effort to bring down the Dark Lord as well. I believe he is in touch with the Weasleys, if you're looking for him."

* * *

 ** _Summer, 2002_**

"Harry! Harry Potter!"

He had been having a rough 2002 to date, so hearing the friendly, familiar voice on Orkney Island was more than welcome, though he had come here for a time of solitude and to practice his Animagus transformation, if it were possible. Though his cottage was warded against spying eyes, he was not remotely surprised to find out Luna Lovegood had seen through all the wards. He waved at her, smiling in spite of himself. "Hey, Luna."

She all but floated across the sparse soil to the graveled footpath. "Was it okay to call you Harry _Potter_ instead of Harry _Potter-Black_? I don't want to offend you or your father or anything." She stopped in front of the bench he was sitting on until he nodded and indicated the empty space to his left for her. He liked keeping his wand arm free. "Oh, good. I just always think of you as Harry Potter—early imprinting, you know—so it's easiest for me that way. I had heard you'd disappeared but never figured on actually finding you whilst I was searching for a quintaped. But I'm glad I have, you know, because they're quite dangerous and another wand is always good for defense. I'm going next to look for the lovely inhabitant of Loch Ness, if you'd like to join me."

Rather bemused, Harry smiled as she chattered on, enjoying her voluble company. Her hair was now a dark blond, her eyes as blue and inquisitive as ever, and she had clearly grown up into quite a pretty woman. After offering him an estimate of the time needed for the journey to Inverness, Luna apparently noticed he hadn't said anything and she shifted a bit to give him stricter attention.

And she blushed to see his smile. Harry Potter had grown into quite a good-looking man since he'd left Hogwarts so suddenly all those years ago. No more glasses, his hair was longer, now, and tied back in a neat queue at his neck, and he was tall! So tall, even sitting down. But what struck her most was the circumference of his throat and the warmth of his smile. Made her stomach feel like she was host to a family of nargles.

"Luna, don't ever change." He took a lock of her hair between his fingers and just held it a few moments. "It's good to see you. How'd you find me?"

"Mage-sight," she replied without concern. "No one's looking for you here, anyway. Last I read, _Witch Weekly_ was holding a Find Harry! Contest. Someone who looks a lot like you did back in my sixth year is probably getting paid by the magazine to dash about Europe. Do you know, they still think you wear spectacles?"

He laughed and, when she reached for his hand in a companionable manner, he didn't move away. "Where is my doppelganger?"

"Oh, he's not a real doppleganger, Harry. I've seen him. He's been glamoured. Maybe even polyjuiced. Did you leave an old hairbrush or something behind when you left?"

He grimaced. "I might have done." He sighed and shifted a bit on the bench to encompass her long, pale hand in his own callused ones. "It's really irritating. Maddening, sometimes."

"Being you?"

"Yeah."

He heard her sigh and looked into her eyes. The sun shone through fast moving clouds overhead, giving him a playful view of his old friend's more mature aspect. Her gaze was kind, wise, and somehow both ageless and playfully young at the same time. "Luna," he said slowly, feeling something in his chest nudge him a little that he hadn't felt in a long, long time. It was odd, but he'd grown to accept much more in a magical mindset than he ever had when he'd been younger. Was it wrong to, to _feel_ again? He hadn't felt anything _real_ in this regard in so long.

She didn't say anything but, with very smooth moves, she maneuvered them so that he had an arm about her shoulder and she held his free hand in hers, resting her head against him. It felt grand. It really did. When he closed his eyes, he could feel the salty breeze on his skin, the soft length of blond hair against his throat, the feminine curves nestled into the hard planes of his own body, and he could relax. For a moment.

"They say, you know, that the Death Eaters are gathering."

He tensed, reminding himself why he couldn't heed that nudging feeling, why he desperately wanted to find his Animagus form–a power that Tom Riddle knew not. He'd given himself just a couple of months to make progress, but apparently that time was up. He had a job to do, and people were dying until he got it done.

Luna sighed against him, turning into his chest to place her hand over his heart. He hugged her close to him for one long, forbidden moment. "I can't do this," he whispered. "I wish I could, but I can't." Her hand over his heart reminded him so much of Hermione and the ache was sudden and severe, as if she'd died just the month before instead of years ago.

The dear woman he held, though, would ever baffle him in her unending comprehension of what mattered. "I know. But—"

Luna blinked and took a deep breath. And then, her mind went warm and soft and she gave herself up to the vision that would follow, even though she knew she'd never remember it.

Harry, though, would never forget. Not the stern voice she used whilst she hosted the Sight nor the words she spoke.

"Your year will be busy, the culmination of all.

Many will rise and many will fall.

The cost will be high, the pain will be deep.

He waits at the crossroads, your appointment to keep.

Yours is not the only scar; another scarred one travels far.

You may see victory over much that is not by your hand

And then at the end, with your true love you'll stand

If you just keep faith—be strong. Be awake.

Or Darkness will triumph, your victory to take."

Numb in every limb, Harry could only stare at Luna as she emerged from her Seer's Trance. "Are you all right?" he whispered.

She smiled and tugged him to his feet. "Of course! Do we have time for tea? And you _will_ help me find the quintaped, right? I want a chance to draw him for the latest edition of _Fantastic Beasts_ but I really could use your help."

Bemused, utterly distracted by what Luna Lovegood had told him whilst in her trance, Harry endeavored to play the host, even going so far as to accompany his guest all over Orkney Island. They found two quintapeds and he kept them in a magic field whilst Luna drew them for her book.

He couldn't help but wonder, as he watched her do so, if she knew whom his true love might be.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Pai is considered to be a name for the language of the Havasupai, Yavapai, and Hualapai Indian Tribes, per Native-Languages dot org. (w w w . native-languages pai. h tm #language)_

 _Hermione's newly aware Patronus and her increased power will be more explained fully later in the story, if you're not sure what's happened. Ahem._


	8. Ammiratio

_**A/N: Surprise!**_

 _Judging by comments, some of y'all had about a six-chapter limit on the incommunicado thing. The title of this story translates to "Although Absent" - meaning, of course, that absence plays a big part in the story. Hermione is absent. She's been hurt, ignored (as she sees it), set aside for what she thinks was a failure. She tried for a year, writing to many people in England, to communicate, and was ignored (as she sees it). So she stopped trying to communicate. She doesn't know, by the end of chapter seven, that everyone thinks she's dead. If she did, that would change things. And it will before the bottom of this page._

 _My thanks, as always, to **Katmom** for her support and willingness to read this basically raw. And to **bhdragons** , who came in with review #200. _

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

 _ **26 July 2002, Farecliffe Hall**_

"Well, Bill Weasley. Look at you." Sirius smiled at the younger man, studying the Curse-Breaker's stance and general situational awareness as he was granted entrance to Farecliffe. "Thank you for coming."

Bill nodded and spelled the ashes from the Floo trip away. "Thank you for inviting me, Lord Black."

Remus Lupin snorted from his place on the nearest leather club chair. "After your initiative at Gringotts with the Cup? I think you're Sirius and Harry's favorite person." He lifted a wry brow. "Even ahead of me, for the moment."

Bill felt his ears heat in embarrassment, gratifying as the endorsement was. "Well, I'm just doing my part, you know. Harry was kind enough to supply his blood, so that was helpful. It really worked."

"Sit, sit." Sirius indicated another deep club chair upholstered in red leather. "We're going to add your wand to the Floo access, by the way. So you can Floo over if needed. Your jobs—for the goblins as well as on the side—are dangerous enough to need a safe haven."

"Thank you. The goblins have also given me an emergency Portkey, just in case."

"Handy, that," Remus allowed with a nod. "So. You may have guessed that we're not done finding the Horcruxes."

A chill shivered its way down Bill's spine. "No?"

"No." Sirius waved one hand and a piece of folded parchment flew from the sideboard to him. "I received word yesterday that a living bit of extremely Dark Magic was discovered hiding quite far from here."

Interest piqued, of course, Bill shifted forward in his chair. "A living Horcrux? Is that even possible?"

"Possible and extremely dangerous."

"Are you—sorry—are you sure about this?"

Sirius unfolded the parchment, cleared his throat and, with a studied casualness, read, "It has come to our attention that a search for a certain intensity of Dark Magic is being undertaken in your country. We have an expert of our own who insists that a new source of such abomination is affecting the magic we do here among our own people. We can attempt to destroy it, but understand you have already been successful in so doing and wish to ask for your assistance here, if you would send your experts to us. A Portkey has been provided . . ." Sirius cleared his throat. "And so on."

Bill leaned back in the chair. "So, you want me to go?"

The older wizards nodded. "We would, of course, arrange for your compensation and so on. It's possible it's got nothing to do with what we have here."

"How did they know?" Bill wondered aloud.

Remus cleared his throat. "That is a very good question."

"Shall I take Harry with me?"

"No." Remus and Sirius almost rose to their feet as they spoke simultaneously. All three men laughed.

"All right, all right. I get it. But I'll need his blood again. Will that be a problem?"

"We can charm it in stasis, so it should be fine. In a phial."

"All right, then. I'm honored to help in any way I can."

 **. . . .**

 _ **27 July 2002, Near Camp Verde, Arizona**_

"What was I thinking?" Bill muttered as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Hello?" He checked his Portkey. "Well, I know I've got to be in a desert somewhere, anyway." He had arrived in the air over a patch of rough sand, on which he promptly fell. The sun was low in the western sky and the sand was hot, dry, and unforgiving.

"Hello!" The voice was female, accented like an American, which threw Bill for a moment for some reason. He couldn't see her straightaway, for the voice came from behind him and every time he turned, grinding sand under his boot soles, she moved. "You're from England, right? Are you Lord Black?"

There was something about the voice—a hard, demanding tone that was only lightly veneered by politeness—that made Bill keep his hand away from his wand, much as he itched to be holding it at the moment. Wiping more sweat from his forehead, feeling his fang earring move as he did so, he shook his head. "No, ma'am. I'm William Weasley, from Gringotts. Sent here by Lord Black. Here's the Portkey your people sent him."

"Pardon my Disillusionment," the woman said, her footsteps visible in the sand. He could sense her, but had no sense _of_ her. "I just need to make sure you're legit, as they say here."

"They?" he asked, turning as she moved. "You're not a local girl, then?"

She laughed. "Well, no, but this is where I've made my home for years, so I try to blend in."

Her laugh made him grin and he felt a strange yearning for her to reveal herself. "Where are you from, then, originally?"

"Adam? Is he all right?"

That startled Bill so much that he _did_ flick his wrist to get his wand in his hand. A deep voice sounded next. "He's fine, My-oh." And then, a tall, lean, muscled man appeared from what had been a highly effective Disillusionment. "I'm Adam Quanah of the Yavapai. Welcome to the Montezuma Coven, Bill Weasley." The man smiled, his teeth strong and white in dark, unwrinkled skin. "And this is Hermione, who alerted us to the problem we brought to Lord Black's attention."

The woman came into view then, and Bill Weasley, for the first and only time in his life, fainted.

* * *

"Hermione? Hermione _Granger_?"

She flinched inwardly to hear her name. Her former appellation. "Dagworth, now."

Bill blinked and blushed. "You've married? But, but Harry?"

Pain, such pain, jolted through her as if that purple bladed curse was once again decimating her insides. "I wrote—oh, so many letters, Bill. He never answered. I even wrote to Ron and Ginny . . ."

Bill shook his head almost violently, his hands extended as if to plead with her. "No one got any letters, Hermione. I swear it. Dumbledore said you were dead. You and Neville Longbottom, both. There was a memorial service and everything. Merlin, Hermione. Harry was in mourning for at least a year."

She couldn't wrap her mind around that and sought Adam's hand to ground her. She and the appealing Yavapai wizard had been involved with one another for several months, until a young woman had taken a spirit journey and returned with a vision for Adam.

He never told her what the vision had entailed, but he did apologize for ending the intimacy of their relationship.

 _"I know your heart isn't whole, My-oh," he'd murmured, holding her close against his chest in her small house. Designed for airflow and natural light, the house was nearly invisible in the landscape around it, as the colors blended in with the sand and rocks. "And I don't mean to hurt you even more. But I, we, can't continue as we have been. Rebekah said that Magic has said so herself."_

 _Never having been one to believe in Divination, Hermione nevertheless understood its power, so she had nodded. "We're still friends, though, right?"_

 _Adam pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. "Always, My-oh. We are as close as two can be and still be two."_

So, when confronted by Bill's surprising revelations, Hermione relied heavily on Adam just to keep from fainting herself. "He thinks I'm dead?" Gripping Adam's large hand, Hermione blew out a breath before taking in another one, deep and slow. "But, my letters! Bill, how did they not reach him?"

The Curse-Breaker, unused to the climate, pulled at his shirt to encourage a bit of air circulation on his skin. Appropriate in weight for England, the shirt was rather heavy for the time of year in Arizona. "Well," he said slowly, choosing his words with care as he kept a steady eye on the not-at-all-dead young woman, "I can't say for certain, since you just told me, but at Gringotts we maintain mail wards for many prominent people in Wizarding Britain. It's possible that someone established one to keep your letters at bay. Your magical signature would be on anything you wrote, magic or Muggle, so the wards could keep the mail away." He winced to see the pain in Hermione's face and was relieved on her behalf when her male companion drew her next to himself with one long arm.

She blinked fast, sniffled a bit, but refused to allow herself the release of tears just yet. "Why would anyone do that? I mean, I never hurt Harry. I wasn't a spy or anything. Why would they just keep me from Harry? And everyone? It doesn't make sense!"

Bill pressed his lips together for a moment, thinking hard. "It's possible that it was Dumbledore," he said quietly. "He's influential, even though he seems to have disappeared from Britain, largely. Perhaps he paid for the wards to be maintained."

Hermione saw white in pure fury. Her first instinct was to take the Portkey Bill had handed over as identity confirmation and use it to return to England and give Dumbledore a significant piece of her mind before finding Harry to do likewise.

But then, she noticed how Bill was looking about him, still with signs of significant Portkey Disorientation Syndrome, and she pushed her need to fix things in England away for the time being. "Come on," she said after a moment. "Let's get you set up. You can use my room, since you're so tall. I fit on the sofa well enough."

Adam pulled her aside after she'd shifted things about a bit. "Will you be all right, my bear?"

"I'm sure I will be. I knew Bill's family, back in England. We'll be fine."

"Does he know how to monitor the Dark Magic? The Curse-Breaker?"

"Did Lord Black send you, Bill?" she called loudly enough for the redhead to hear her clearly.

He was still plucking at his shirt. "Yeah. And yes, I'm up on monitoring Dark Magic. I've found a way to find the things we're looking for."

"All right, then. I wanted to monitor the creature that Yaxley fellow left in the Castle, Adam. We can do that tomorrow, once Bill has his bearings."

Despite their change in relationship status, Adam Quanah still made bold enough to trace the knuckle of his forefinger down her torso, marking the long, jagged path of the curse that had nearly killed her. "Can't you use this to monitor it from here?"

She had to smile. "If only. I could draw nearer, perhaps, but I couldn't tell, from here, if the thing moved or not. All I know for certain is that it can move. I could send my guardian, but only if I wanted to follow right now." She shivered with the memory of first sensing the Dark Magic's presence.

 _The pain—a dull throb that gave her a directional by minute triangulation indicators as well as a nearly sentient, probing feeling—drew her out in the deep black of night. It was hard to be silent in the desert, to be as silent as one would want to be to do a quiet reconnaissance when an intruder had brought a magic dark and malevolent into one's sacred space. Hermione, though, had learnt desert-craft as well as wizard-craft with the Montezuma Coven and had practiced moving like a wild creature. Tiny steps. Occasional slithers on stone. Noises that would be dismissed as those of rodents or snakes, or the occasional coyote._

 _"Why can't I just levitate?" she had asked Adam._

 _"That is working_ against _the land, My-oh. Work with it and it will work with you."_

 _So as she followed the robed intruder that dark night before the rising of a waxing moon, Hermione was My-oh, Sand Stalker._

 _At length, she drew near enough to the intruder that she was able to direct her thoughts and perform a wandless_ Stupefy _! The intruder's face expressed his frozen shock. Interrogation had uncovered his burden—but not what that burden was in its entirety. He'd been allowed to return after suitable Obliviates had been administered—he had been cagey enough to garner international immunity from all but sheer murder—but the magic stayed behind._

* * *

 _ **28 July 2002**_

"So, you got married, then, Hermione? To that Adam fellow?" Bill was doing his best to treat her as his little brother's back-from-the-dead best friend, but it was hard. She'd become . . . insanely hot in the years since he'd last seen her. Her thick, curly hair was shot through with gold, her skin was tanned, and her eyes seemed to have pinpricks of light in them. Like the few magicals he'd seen during his limited glimpse of Arizona, she was wearing regular Muggle clothes that clung to her like any man's fantasy.

She tugged at the white collar of her shirt and studied the monument they were going to investigate. "No." She pressed her lips together before flicking over them with her tongue. Bill had to look away for a moment as she continued to speak. "You see, when, when I was wounded, back in Ninety-Six? My parents took me from Britain entirely. They refused to let me return to Hogwarts, cut off all contact on our end with anyone I knew. My mail was intercepted, my sources of information cut off. I wasn't even allowed out of the house for almost a year whilst I healed."

Shocked, Bill turned to face her fully, ignoring the imposing façade of the monument for the moment. "What about Apparating?"

"I wasn't allowed to do magic for the longest time." With a sigh, she fished about in her woven shoulder bag—the Yavapai, she'd told him, were known for their weaving—and got out a blue bottle of some sort. After a quick glance about them, she filled it with water from her wand. "They lied to me. Told me Sirius Black had been killed and Harry probably blamed me, was in mourning for his godfather, didn't want anything to do with me since I wasn't around to help him . . ." She sent Bill a strained smile. "Pretty much anything and everything they could think of, really."

Tension gathered in Bill's muscles and he didn't even know why, exactly. "That, that was terrible. So, you left?"

With a dry angle of one brow, she nodded. "Quite. Disowned them. Changed my name to Dagworth, as I'd found I was distantly related to the Potioneer. Moved as far away from them as I could. I couldn't figure out how to get in touch with Harry or anyone, really. But I couldn't _not_ help, you know?"

"I understand, Hermione. Absolutely." He dragged both hands through his hair. "Though this isn't where _I'd_ expected to be helping." He shrugged and surreptitiously scooted over the sand to be a little closer to her. "You sure you're up to this? I mean, you could just watch out here, keep the Muggles away whilst I'm up there."

They stood, staring up at the legendary Montezuma's Castle. It was an ancient limestone dwelling, looking much like he imagined a great city would have looked hundreds of years in the past. He'd spent enough time amongst Egyptian ruins to have a feel for such things. The stone was exquisitely preserved, and even from the ground, far beneath the Castle itself, one could see the details of stairs and the various levels of the different dwellings and perhaps places of business. All built, or perhaps carved, from the rock which gave it defense, shelter, shade, and shape.

"Bill Weasley," the young woman said in the American accent she was still using, "I am entirely capable, you know. When Yaxley came, I felt the darkness he brought with him." She met his gaze with her own direct one and rubbed at her chest with the heel of her hand. "I couldn't tell what it was, though. So, I'm not sure exactly what we'll find that's . . . what we need." She raked her gaze over him in a way that he could almost feel. "What's the plan?"

"To find it, capture it in this bag," he went on, digging out the warded dragonhide bag he carried with him, "and then Portkey back to Gringotts and destroy it."

Her eyes were narrowed before she slowly asked, "Might I, erm, accompany you? Do you think the Gringotts' wards would send me back?"

He chuckled and tucked the bag back into his pocket. "You're more than welcome, Hermione Granger. Er. Dagworth. Sorry. No, the goblins have their own wards, and they circumvent the wizarding ones at need. I can't wait to be there when everyone sees you." He allowed some of his admiration to show in his gaze and was gratified to see her cheeks darken with a blush. "Really. It'll be something. Might have to call up the _Daily Prophet_ or _Witch Weekly_."

Her blush flared to her entire face, but she was not smiling. "Do we have to?"

"Well, people will want to know." He carefully cupped her shoulder with one hand, pleased when she didn't shrug him away. "There's a story in there that people deserve to know. Remember, Dumbledore's gone missing and no one knows why."

She stiffened under his hand and turned to study his face. He allowed it. She opened her mouth, in evident desire to say something about the former Headmaster, but then closed it again. "There are no words."

He winked at her before, after a brief squeeze, letting her shoulder go. "Well, none you'll say in mixed company, yeah?"

She nodded, smiled, and looked a bit sheepish. "I guess. Thank you, Bill. For, for telling me everything and being willing to sneak me back in to England. The goblins are rather amazing."

"Always ready to come to the rescue of a damsel in distress!"

She laughed and shook her head. "All right then. If you're going to use _that_ metaphor, let's continue. This damsel needs to get the knight in . . ." she glanced at him, " _ruddy_ armor up through the castle walls."

"Well done, you." Hefting his rucksack over one shoulder, he nodded. "Are we climbing up or . . . ?"

She flashed him a grin. "Do you have an Invisibility Cloak in that pack of yours?"

He laughed and shook his head. "I figured I'd levitate under cover of darkness. I guess that's not happening," he added whilst shading his eyes from the sun. "Will you levitate?"

"No, we don't often do that, here. But, we do manage to move more quietly and climb more easily if we work with the land." At his quizzical expression, she shrugged. "The magic here is different. Strong, too. Who knows, you might like it!"

"For right now, fair princess, I'll stick with what I know." He wiped a trickle of sweat from his temple.

"You need to cool off," she declared, indicating the blue bottle. She pulled a small motor and some sort of bladed attachment from her seemingly inexhaustible bag. With a slight motion of her forefinger, she pulled on a lever and water sprayed out to hit her face and bare throat. The motor made a light purring sound and she sighed in relief. "This is great. Want to try it?"

He nodded, speechless as he couldn't help but follow drops of water that slid down her skin to dip under the low, square neckline of her cotton top. He felt himself blush and hoped it would be mistaken for his English sensitivity to the Arizona heat. Or maybe his red hair. Anything other than the sudden lust that bolted through his body like summer lightning.

Still smiling, the younger woman stepped closer to him and focused intently on his face. "See," she said as the silence grew thick, "I use this instead of a cooling charm because it's awfully suspicious not to sweat, out here. Besides, it actually feels kind of good when the liquid evaporates. Cools the skin." She pumped the bottle again and Bill felt the cool spray of water along his jaw, followed by the gentle breeze offered by the small fan. "Like it?"

"Oh yeah," he said, his mouth dry. The sensation of the water, the air—it felt as if she'd laved his skin herself and was blowing on it and— "Merlin, it's hot out here."

"Summer in Arizona. They really do fry eggs on the sidewalks in Phoenix, you know. It gets that hot." Chuckling, she tucked her water bottle away and shaded her eyes. "Ready now?"

"Might as well get this done," he stated, straightening his shoulders and reminding himself that he had a job to do.

Whispering the words in a language Bill didn't recognize, Hermione didn't even use her wand as she Disillusioned him. Belatedly, he remembered to _Wingardium_ himself, and the sound of her light laughter followed him as he floated invisibly to a narrow precipice near the edge of Montezuma's Castle. She motioned with her arm for him to move, so he took a quick look around, finding an open door in the building nearest to him. By the time he looked back for Hermione, though, she'd sort of blended into the landscape.

Holding his breath, he wanted to cast a _Homenum Revelio_ , but at the appearance of a pair of Muggles just at the edge of the designated Tourist Area, he refrained. Who knew where Hermione was at the moment? Revealing her could break the Statute of Secrecy.

Did they even hold to that, here? He didn't know.

At length, he heard, "I'm here. Did you see the couple down there?"

"Yeah. They kept me from trying to make you clear again. Worried me there, princess."

She was rolling her eyes when she became discernible once more. Brushing her feet, she lifted up first one red-laced trainer and then the other, checking them for tension, he imagined. All her other gear had been tucked away into her bag, save for the crystal she wore about her neck.

"Lead on," he murmured.

"Okay, then. We'll go through that door there, the one on the rounded dwelling."

He followed her, his mind alternately distracted by her trim figure in white shorts and white top and focused on the precious phial he carried with him. "Are we about there, princess?" he asked, silently Summoning Harry's blood.

She stood still, her torso extended, and he wondered _how_ she knew _what_ she knew. After darting a rather embarrassed glance his way, she brushed her fingertips up and down her torso, starting just at the collar of her shirt and going down between her breasts to where her shorts rode low on her hips. After letting out a soft sigh, Hermione turned a bit one way and then swung in a slow arc the other way. He recognized that motion.

Abruptly, she stopped and her fingers clenched on the fabric of her blouse. Her eyes were wide when they met his again. "All right there, Miss Dagworth?" he asked, going with formal as she seemed to have had a shock.

"Yeah."

"Ever consider a career as a Curse-Breaker?"

She flashed him a smile. "Isn't that what we're doing?"

"Maybe we can talk about it later, in England," he murmured as she started to weave around loose boulders and into the maze that tourists never saw.

In direct contrast with the achingly dry heat in the sun, the cool shade within the nether reaches of Montezuma's Castle was a shock. Bill shivered, even, as he stealthily dipped the tip of his wand in the phial of Harry's blood. Hermione gripped the crystal shard around her neck with one hand whilst holding her hand out in front of her. In the dim cavern, rock formations glowed on occasion. A basket. An overhanging . . . artifact of some sort. The glow would present itself as a golden hue and then fade quickly.

Bill tried to focus on Harry's blood, to find the Horcrux, but he couldn't. He was unable to use his undivided attention in it, as he felt compelled to heed his guide and fellow Englishman, Hermione. There was a malevolence in this secret, hidden location. A darkness that he hadn't felt in a while. A cold chill raised the fine hairs all over his body. "Hermione."

"I know it. It's . . . it's moving, Bill. Ready?"

He swallowed a knot of nerves. "Moving?"

She took a quick breath. " _Expecto Patronum_!" she called bravely.

Bill blinked at the enormous bear that materialized before them. "Hermione?"

"Watch her," the woman murmured.

The bear took steps forward, then wove its head back and forth before moving again. After a moment, the bear leapt away and Bill darted a disbelieving look at Hermione, who held up a hand expectantly. He watched, but he could hear something moving up ahead, as well. A dry, gritty but smooth sort of sound. Then, the bear ran out of the murky darkness to circle Hermione, the cool presence of the Patronus passing right over Bill himself.

"Let's go!"

Bill hardly had time to blink before Hermione was off to follow her Patronus. Its light made even a Lumos charm unnecessary. "Hermione?"

"Come on. If this thing moves, we can catch it and use your bag for it. Far easier than a Rune, I reckon."

"A Rune? Woman, I've got to hear your stories."

She laughed, the sound soft between puffed breaths as they caught up with the glowing, silver-white bear figure who stood, its snout pointing to a place between two monolithic boulders. "Later, Curse-Breaker Weasley. For now, prepare yourself." She withdrew a long blade—a sword, perhaps—from the bag she wore around her body. _She's using an Undetectable Extension Charm. Bloody hell._

"Don't know if I can use a sword, princess. I was prepared for Fiendfyre."

"We'll see, my knight in ruddy armor. The dragon's coming."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** This last part might be a little familiar if you read "Hot" in _**Glimpses of Hermione** _, my drabble/flashfic collection. It's changed a bit, due to circumstances, of course..._

 _And, I made a decision, so sorry for those who were expecting a rather different posting schedule. I'll be posting Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday this week. There are advantages to writing in advance, yeah?_


	9. Praeli

_**A/N:** So I gathered there was a sigh of relief when Hermione found out everyone thought she was dead. Moving along, now..._

 _Thank you, **Katmom** , for being awesome every day._

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

 _ **28 July 2002, Hogwarts**_

Minerva McGonagall had had enough. Pacing in the Headmistress's Office, as was her wont of late, she tapped her wand against her palm and muttered to herself. "I could tell . . . No. What if something had happened to her? No. That would be a cruel blow indeed. What about him? He won't go off and inform Albus, no. He hates him. And perhaps he could investigate? He knows people and . . ."

She hadn't told anyone that Hermione Granger was alive due to her concern that Albus had been _right_ ; her life and the lives of her parents would be at risk if word got out. She was—had been—a prominent Muggle-born witch with close ties to Harry Potter-Black. That made her a target. But surely, enough time had passed that she would no longer be such. She had written such plaintive letters, years ago. Nothing in a long time, of course, but she had no reason to believe Hermione wasn't alive. Perhaps she had just stopped trying? Had made a new life for herself?

Minerva stopped and scowled at the assorted portraits on the wall. Spelled not to reveal any secrets, they merely watched her. She had long since informed them that their interference in her daily duties was unwelcome. Indeed, Phineas Nigellus Black's frame had been singed. All of the former Heads had learned not to anger the current one. "Well?"

The portraits shrugged as if they'd rehearsed it. Perhaps they had.

She swore something definitely unladylike and stomped toward the middle window, which was open to the warm summer afternoon. Wand up, she began to say, " _Expecto_ —" when the Floo flamed a loud, spitting green.

"McGonagall!" As a former Auror, Minerva was more than acquainted with the tone of Alastor Moody's "Auror voice". She moved to kneel in front of the fireplace. He saw her and gave her no time to speak. "Word has it there's going to be trouble today."

"Our source said as much," Minerva said tersely.

" _Today_. Watch the wards and get the others on alert."

All thoughts of Miss Granger slid from Minerva's mind. "Immediately. Thank you."

Pushing herself to her feet, she took a quick peek out the window. No trouble here, but Moody hadn't lived so long for being unaware of circumstances, even if he was paranoid.

* * *

 _ **28 July 2002**_ , **_Diagon Alley_**

"So they still work, do they?" Dean Thomas asked with a grin as he met Harry in Diagon Alley. Flipping the Protean Charmed Galleon as he would any Muggle coin, Harry's former roommate looked about. "Am I first?"

With a nod, Harry indicated he was. "Though I expect Luna Lovegood in a moment. She's been doing some research with Ollivander."

"Cor! That's a surprise." Dean shook his head and looked about the Leaky Cauldron. "Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?" The Boy Wonder was sitting in a booth near the front, staring out the windows.

"Where's everyone?"

"On their way."

"I meant the regular bar blokes, yeah?"

Harry grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. It wasn't as unruly now as it had been when they'd been kids. Neither was he wearing glasses. These days, Dean reckoned, Harry Potter could have passed for an accountant or a Rugby player, if it weren't for the scar on his forehead. "I, er, sort of rented the place for the day, Dean." He winced a little. "Just so I knew exactly who'd be here."

"Well, you called us, we'll be here. Oh, look. Luna!"

Harry grinned, then, and rose to his feet to greet the airy-voiced blonde. "Luna!"

"Harry! Here! I brought you some pictures from when we were in Inverness."

After briefly embracing the witch, Harry met Dean's eye with a distinct blush in his cheek. "We, er, ran into one another earlier this summer."

"Well, we didn't really _run into_ each other," Luna began. "It was more like I pried him loose from a rock."

Harry laughed out loud and Dean Thomas hid a smile behind the need to bend over to tie a shoe. It had been years since he'd heard Harry laugh. Not since his coming-of-age party.

"Oi! Harry!" The Weasley twins Apparated into the middle of the Leaky, grins on their faces.

"Heard there was going to be a scuffle!"

"A duel, perhaps?"

"Maybe even an all-out battle!"

"Count us in!" they finished in tandem, waving their wands and creating little arcs of colored sparks in the air.

Harry lost his smile. "Enough, lads. This isn't a game. Death Eaters, you know? They're said to be infiltrating London. We have to do this on the sly."

George—well, he was wearing a robe that had a G on it, anyway—pulled a sober expression and actually bowed. "Never fear, Mister Potter-Black. We can be sly."

"Subtle!"

"Quiet, even."

"No, really, it's a gift!"

After another ten minutes, most of the rest of the D.A. had assembled at the Leaky Cauldron and Harry explained the mission to a quiet bunch of former classmates. Some of them wore full-on Wizard Wear, as Dean saw it. Some were almost Muggle in their casual attire. All, though, were listening keenly, wands in hand, exchanging glances that communicated comprehension and concern.

Dean wasn't optimistic; the mission sounded difficult and dangerous. The Statute, he guessed silently, would likely be broken that day. "What'll we do if the Muggles see us?" he ventured to ask, rolling his wand between his palms.

Harry sighed and rolled up on his toes. "Auror Tonks has an Obliviation Squad standing by. Try to suss out a name from any Muggle and they'll take it from there. Any other questions?"

 **. . . .**

His heart was pounding in his chest. Not like a rabbit, but more like a fast-paced bass drum. Harry swallowed and checked everyone's positions again as they prepared to split their forces; most to enter Muggle London, with a contingency force to remain in Diagon Alley.

"I'm coming with you," Luna murmured just behind him.

He jerked himself around. "Merlin! You scared me." The sky was overcast—cloudy London, big surprise—and when rain started to fall on their heads, Harry just sighed and shared a smile with his friend the Seer. "You're good with a wand, but Luna," he said, stepping closer to her and cupping her face in one hand, "be safe, all right? Don't play the heroine."

She laughed lightly and stepped away, wand out. "You're already the hero, Harry. I won't try to rain on your parade." Then, a big fat drop hit her on the nose and she laughed again, looking up with wide, unblinking eyes. "Oops! Too late!"

Harry just shook his head but then, he felt it. A sharp stab of dread. "Time to go."

Their informant—someone Tonks was in contact with and who knew _how_ she was getting her intelligence—had reported on the attack that was coming that day. Death Eaters were going to assault one particular London district: Piccadilly Circus. And it was going to happen that day.

The plan, as Harry himself had recently outlined it to the rest, was for most of them to head out, in pairs or groups no larger than four. Apparition was allowed if the witch or wizard knew London well enough, but otherwise, they had to walk it. Coventry Street was Harry's preference as fewer would get lost that way, nor would they stand out overmuch. "Transfigure your clothes into Muggle wear now," he called out. "I'll Apparate with Luna, here, and see you on the other side."

With the blonde's arm linked in his, he spun and Apparated to an alcove across the road from the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron. Luna sniffed and fluffed her hair, but didn't complain about being side-alonged. "All right there?" he asked softly, making sure she hadn't flipped anything she wouldn't want flipped.

Luna merely smiled in her otherworldly way. "It's going to be a busy day. Let's go, Harry."

He saw Fred and George slip out through the blue-framed door across the way. They were dressed unremarkably and, as Harry watched, Fred opted to charm his hair to a dark brown. George smacked his twin on the back of the head, but the color remained. "Merlin, what's he doing?"

Luna hummed quietly and stepped away from their hiding place to emerge into the flow of meagre pedestrian traffic. "I think he's just making himself distinct from his brother. Maybe for the battle."

"Yeah." Harry blew out a breath and joined Luna, heading toward the corner. They turned to Coventry Street before heading vaguely west. His heart had calmed a bit, now that they were busy, and he was doing his best to keep his eye open to look for suspected Death Eaters.

It did not surprise him when Luna picked up on his study. "I hope they aren't wearing their masks," she mused in her dreamy manner. "The Muggles might not understand to avoid them. They might think there was a party!" And she giggled.

"All right, that's creepy," Harry allowed.

The Weasley twins were keeping pace with them, and, at the corner, Harry met Dean and Cho. Harry was grateful that so many members of the former D.A. had answered the Galleon call, but he worried that they'd call attention to themselves.

Still, he nodded at them. "Let's keep moving."

The others exchanged glances but they followed as he led them. Every so often, he'd hear a soft "pop" that indicated Apparition. Around them, unsuspecting Muggles nodded and smiled in that politely distant, British manner he didn't encounter anywhere in other European cities. "Sorry. Pardon. Sorry."

It didn't take too long to reach Piccadilly Circus. The huge signs for different businesses and favorite soft drinks and fast food restaurants flashed and moved and overwhelmed.

"Harry!"

"Ron!" Genuinely pleased to see his oldest friend, Harry shook his hand. "How long have you been here, mate?"

He blushed to the tips of his ears. "Well, er, I was shopping Muggle-fashion. Re-Research for Dad."

Luna laughed and shook her head, making Harry think that his initial impression—that Ron was covering something up—was likely correct. "Right. Well then, ready to join us?"

"Of course, Harry. Always."

No sooner had they started on their way again when it happened. At least a dozen Death Eaters—in masks and robes—converged in the middle of Piccadilly Circus. It was like a ballet, Harry thought, judging by what he'd heard and read. The Death Eaters drew close to one another, turned, and directed their wands outward.

The Muggles laughed at first, with shouts of, "Where's the camera?" and "Is this one of those reality programs?" rising above the street. Soon, though, the Death Eaters silenced them with bolts of color bursting from the tips of their wands.

"Stop them!" Harry called as curses flew behind him. His former classmates, his friends, and even the woman who might be more at some point—they all swore with shock but moved forward anyway.

Screams replaced the laughing questions. Blood spilled to the pavement. Businesses emptied as curious Londoners investigated, only to be murdered in their turns. But the group that had once been called Dumbledore's Army was not long in avenging the dead. Outnumbering the Death Eaters, they shouted assorted Stunners, all whilst avoiding the screaming Muggles.

"Hurry! Before their Aurors come!" Ron's suggestion was given at commanding volume, and Harry saw the sense in it. Saying "Police!" or "Constables" or something would mean nothing to most of the D.A.

"Potter!"

"Malfoy!" Harry met Draco as the younger Malfoy threw his mask to one side. " _Expelliarmus_!"

It worked, too, as Draco's wand flew to Harry's hand whilst Draco himself fell over backward. Still, though, he was a powerful wizard. And he had two wands. " _Sectumsempra_!"

Harry's shield was strong and it repelled the curse, but the elder Malfoy had entered the duel by then and he cast as well, directing his curse to the warrior fighting at Harry's side.

" _Stupefy_!" Luna called, bringing a Death Eater down with the repetition of her spellcasting.

" _Avada Kedavra_."

"Luna! No!"

Harry didn't even have time to cry out before he rid the world of Lucius Malfoy. Gathering a limp Luna up in one arm, Harry pushed a howling grief down deep in his chest and Disapparated back to Diagon Alley.

A few Death Eaters were there, bound and Petrified, their masks and robes removed regardless of what they wore—or didn't wear—under them. Remus and Sirius were waiting, guarding the prisoners, expressions of fury and fear on their faces.

"What by Merlin's beard did you think you were doing?" Remus demanded, stomping with all the fury of a werewolf who would face the moon that night.

Taken aback by their anger, Harry cradled Luna more closely against himself. "Saving Muggles. Thank your wife."

Sirius only then seemed to see his burden and, after a whispered word to Remus, the older wizards changed places so Sirius could join Harry. "Ah, lad. What happened?"

His voice cracked when he answered. "She was _Avada'd_ , Dad. Lucius Malfoy."

"Everlasting hell," Sirius murmured. "You don't get a break, do you? I'm so sorry, son." Deep compassion darkened his gaze when he wiped a tear from Harry's cheek. "What do you need from me?"

It was, perhaps, the best question his dad could have asked. Blowing out a breath, he drew it in again, along with the strangely citrus/spice scent that was still in Luna's hair, despite the curse that took her away. "First, it wasn't like that, with Luna. Not really." He laughed, but it was a sad sort of sound. "Might have been, someday, but not just now. What I need now. Wow. What I need is to know how we did. The Obliviators have to be sent to Piccadilly Circus. Whoever we have with the Muggle Law Enforcement has to get to work. It was—it was bad, Dad. Really bad."

More warriors were arriving, alone or side-alonging a wounded friend. Sometimes, a dead one. Harry laid Luna gently in one of the Leaky Cauldron's private rooms. Other lifeless D.A. members joined her in short order. He made himself see and remember each one. Dean Thomas. Michael Corner. Alicia Spinnet. Terry Boot. And, of course, Luna.

Ron had captured Antonin Dolohov. Harry knew he owed his oldest friend a bottle of Ogden's finest.

Tonks appeared in what Harry was morosely calling The Morguette. "Wotcher, Harry."

He leaned into her half-body embrace, noting as he did so that her hair was long and black—what he imagined it was naturally. "Hey, Tonks. Are the Obliviators out there?"

"Yeah. And Healer Pye sent a team of his best to you. They're out there. Plus, we need to take a statement."

"From me?" he asked listlessly.

"Yeah. Sorry."

He nodded and met her light gray gaze. The day's light missed the room's only window entirely, so there was just the two of them in the gathering gloom. "No. It's fine. I mean, I know it has to happen." He paced away, making himself study the dead again. Dean. Michael. Alicia. Terry. Luna.

Neville. _Hermione_.

"Do they need me right now or can it wait? I want to make sure, make sure to talk to families and all." The slicing arc of pain in his chest knocked the breath from his body as he imagined the grief he'd witness soon.

Tonks lit a candle with a whispered command and the tip of her wand. "Sure, Harry. Come in when you can, yeah?"

"Yeah."

He couldn't help the sniffle, but blew his nose on a conjured handkerchief before Banishing it. "Mad-Eye didn't teach me about this part during all those duels. He needs to work on his Chosen One curriculum. Tell him that for me."

Tonks ruffled his hair as if he weren't taller than she was, as if he hadn't just led men and women to die in battle. "I'll tell him, Harry. Maybe you could teach him a thing or two. Oh, Hogwarts is fine, in case you wondered."

Harry's breath caught in his chest. "What?"

Tonks wrinkled her nose and studied the bodies, avoiding Harry's gaze. "Mad-Eye was worried about them so he alerted the Headmistress. But there were no Death Eaters, there."

Overwhelmed, Harry could only say, "Good. That's good."

* * *

 _ **Montezuma's Castle, Arizona**_

Though Hermione's words about knights and dragons were whimsical there in the dark, dry chamber behind Montezuma's Castle, her tone was flat when she thanked her Patronus and released it.

Reminding himself they'd have time later for quizzing one another, Bill eyed the blade in her hand. "How's your fencing?"

" _Lumos_. Fair."

He almost snorted. For Hermione Granger? She had left a reputation behind her, in England. _Fair_ would mean better than seventy percent of all the wizards and witches he knew. He'd bet the twins Galleons on it. "Good. I hear it. The _dragon_."

Bill was jerked forward with a suddenness that made him yelp. "Oi!" The wand seemed to pull him right toward glistening fangs that dripped with viscous fluid. The dragon was a snake! "Hermione! It's a snake!" She shouted something in a language he didn't recognize, so he ignored the words in favor of having the dragonhide bag at the ready. "How do I get the soul piece?" he asked between gulps of air. The huge snake lunged and danced and it was all Bill could do to stay out of its way.

"Hold still," Hermione directed.

"Easier said than done." Still, he did his best, maintaining a stationary position as the light from Hermione's crystal grew brighter.

A flash demanded his notice as a blade arced from above. Hermione had leapt up a rock and was falling through the air. He swore just as the blade hit the snake behind its angular head.

Said head was immediately detached from the body and Bill's only thought was to capture the noxious substance that rose in its wake.

He didn't notice that the malignant creature had left him a parting gift: fangs in his bare forearm.

Hermione took one heartbeat to assess the situation. She had to get the Darkness that came from the snake. " _Lumos_ ," she repeated in a shaky breath. Such was her distress that the light that came from the crystal she wore was more pale than dawn's first ray. "Bill?"

"Prin . . . cess . . ."

 _All right, then, yes_. Hermione flung the snake's head from him and flared her hands over the Curse-Breaker's body to bid the local magics to keep the poisons from his heart whilst she took care of the Horcrux, for that's what Bill had said it was. Then, she stole the dragonhide bag from Bill's stiff clasp and, murmuring an incantation Adam had taught her in preparation for this, she jerked the quartz from around her neck and used it to basically corral the Darkness so that she could get it into the bag.

Would that be enough? She truly hoped so. Lore had it that the death of the living vessel meant the death of the Darkness, but she didn't know if it would be enough. She could find it, but she didn't know if she could destroy it if slaying the snake hadn't done so. She certainly couldn't Rune-ward a non-solid substance!

Wiping cold sweat from her brow, she knelt at Bill's side. "Portkey. I need your Portkey to Gringotts, Bill Weasley." Blowing out a breath, she disrupted the magic holding the man in a state of non-progression of venom. "I'm so sorry." His eyes fluttered open, pain clear in the bright blue depths as well as in the lines of his face. "Arm or Portkey, Bill? I need to know what you want!"

". . . Crux?"

"I hope I've got it."

His pale lips twitched. "Good. Arm?"

"All right, then." Withdrawing her wand with one hand, she held his arm with the other. " _Vulnera Sanentur_ ," she said, chanting in the way she had learned. " _Vulnera Sanentur_. _Vulnera Sanentur_." The spell was supposed to do three things: prevent death by exsanguination, clean the blood in the body, and to knit any wounds together. It was the most powerful healing spell she knew.

But as Bill followed her with his faltering, dimming gaze, she knew it wasn't enough.

She begged his forgiveness and stripped him all but naked to find the disc of goblin-wrought silver that she guessed would be the Portkey. Her eyes were blurred with tears, but she covered up the eldest Weasley brother, sliding him around so that his body was draped over her lap as she sat on the stone floor of the dark cavern that was a part of—yet very much separate from—Montezuma's Castle.

" _Immobulus_!" she whispered, putting him in stasis. Then, she pressed the tip of her wand to the silver disc. "Help me."

She was whisked away without a sound.

* * *

 _ **See you tomorrow...**_


	10. Intus

_**A/N:** We have rather picked up the pace, haven't we? _

_Eternal Gratitude to **Katmom** and a happy birthday greeting to Daughters A  & B. Remind them that their Crazy Aunt LJ hasn't forgotten how to use her spork. :)_

 _Now_ _take a deep breath. . ._

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

 _ **28 July 2002, Gringotts**_

"Ragnok!" Bogrod all but exploded into Ragnok's Gringotts office, his gray hair in lightning-spikes up around his head. "A wizard and witch! Portkey! Secure Chamber!"

"May your wife cleave your skull in two, Bogrod, if you don't speak plain!" With a growl, Ragnok stomped around his desk to confront the underling. "Which Secure Chamber?" he demanded when Bogrod just stared at him as if he had grown another head.

"Vault Three, Ragnok!" Bogrod nodded his head frantically.

Ragnok felt his lower jaw drop. That was on the lowest, most secure level of Gringotts. And the only way one got into that vault was via Portkey unless the goblin requesting entrance was Senior Account Manager or above. And there was only one Portkey currently released for Vault Three. His stomach lurched in a sickening manner. "Let us go. We'll need Senior Manager Nimrod to access it. Send for one of our Healers, as well," he instructed with a raspy voice.

"Ragnok, _who_ is down there?"

"The only one that could be: the human Curse-Breaker William Weasley."

Bogrod nodded abruptly. "He was doing something secret."

"He was, yes. But I am aware of his assignment, as is Senior Manager Nimrod. I'll meet him at the Vault." Ragnok offered silent, business-like greetings to his fellow bankers as he hurried from his office to the carts that went to the deepest levels of Gringotts. His shoes made soft echoes in the marble halls until he went through the final set of doors that led to the carts. Then, it was as if he'd stepped into his ancestral true-home and he inhaled with deep satisfaction. Oh, Gringotts did good business, working with the wizards, but nothing satisfied a true goblin but his true-home. A cavern that hid treasure.

He jumped into the nearest cart, focused on holding on tight during the long ride down. Cool, damp air blew by his head and he grinned into each precariously balanced turn of the track. A dragon was guarding a corridor there, but Ragnok didn't heed it. He was going so far down that dragon-wards weren't required. He wondered if Nimrod would have arrived already.

It was possible. The Senior Managers did contrive to get around more quickly than the average goblin.

His eyes adjusted to the deepening dark, so he blinked when he saw the torch. It was magical, alerting anyone down here that yes, someone was in Vault Three. So if the runes failed, then a simple flame might do the job of notifying the bank. And, in the shadow of the torch was none other than Senior Manager Nimrod.

Ragnok pulled on the brake with a huge effort, nearly flying from the cart after he did so. He landed on his feet, however, and bowed to Nimrod's superior rank. "May your enemies convulse in fear in your presence, Senior Manager."

"May your vaults never empty," Nimrod said in reply. "I heard you believed Weasley's in Three." The older goblin lifted one bushy brow and rocked back on his booted feet. "You are familiar with his mission?" Ragnok nodded. "Good." Nimrod touched the access panel to the right of the vault's door and it opened with creaky sluggishness.

"Stop right there. Who are you and where are we?" A young witch with gold-streaked brown hair stood over the body of Bill Weasley and Ragnok felt his heart squeeze in sorrow. "I'm Hermione Dagworth, from the Yavapai Coven in Arizona. Curse-Breaker Weasley was bitten by a snake and needs a healer immediately."

Ragnok stepped in so he could catch the brunt of the brunette's hex, if the witch so decided. "I'm Ragnok. I've worked with Bill Weasley before. This is Senior Manager Nimrod. You're in the most secure vault of Gringotts, young Miss Dagworth. You're quite safe."

"A healer!" she repeated, dropping to her knees to retrieve a dragonhide bag as well as to check Weasley's pulse. "No! No! Bill, no!"

Nimrod sighed heavily and stepped close to Bill Weasley's body, checking for signs of life. "I'm most sorry, Miss Dagworth." He waited until the witch met his gaze, though her own was filled with tears. "Did you bring what he sought?"

"Yes," she whispered. "He said it could be destroyed here."

"Can you cast Fiendfyre?"

She nodded slowly. "But I don't know if I can control it."

"Good enough."

* * *

Hermione was nearly panting. Too much had happened in too short a time, but she had no choice but to follow the path that her feet were on at present.

She was in Wizarding Britain. In Gringotts, no less! Bill had been overcome by the serpent's venom. Molly would be devastated. Bill's body had been taken up by Ragnok, a colleague of the Curse-Breaker's, and the Senior Manager was staying behind to secure the vault once Hermione had done a very dangerous thing.

She had to cast for Fiendfyre. "Bill Weasley cast it here before, Miss Dagworth. He cast it and I sealed the vault whilst the thing burned the . . . burned what our Curse-Breaker had retrieved. I can do the same for you. Then, we must go to my office. The Weasley family will want to thank you for bringing their Scion home."

Her heart thudded painfully and her throat went dry, but Hermione merely nodded. "Wait for me at the door, then, Senior Manager."

The goblin bowed formally to her, leaving her alone in the rocky vault. No drawers containing treasure here. No piles of Galleons or jewels. This was clearly a vault built for no other purpose than containment. It made her shiver. Still, she carried Bill Weasley's dragonhide bag to the center of the area and hurried to get as close to the edge of the vault, near the door, as she could. _Focus, Hermione!_ she admonished herself. She held her wand aloft, took a breath, and called, " _Ignem Diaboli_!"

Fire, like the fire from a chemical explosion, spouted from the tip of her wand. She flipped the wand and the fire left it, assuming the form of a dragon.

"Ho ho!" the goblin shouted. "Come! Now!"

The dragon-shaped Fiendfyre dove to the dragonhide bag as Hermione's own bag thumped on her back when she turned and fled the vault. The goblin pushed the vault's door shut behind her, locking it with a touch to a rectangle next to the door. She held his gaze with her own as they heard the roaring fire on the other side of the heavy door. The torch above them seemed to flicker in response to the Fiendfyre's activity, but it settled before too long.

"It's finished," Nimrod said with a soft sort of reverence. "Well done, Miss Dagworth."

"Yeah, about that…"

"Come to the Senior Lift, Miss Dagworth, and we can talk business." His smile was subdued, but Hermione sensed that it was entirely sincere. For a goblin, business was life. And, though she mourned Bill and dreaded seeing the Weasleys again, Hermione knew that the matter of her identity was paramount. "What is troubling you?"

She fell to an old Muggle line from Mark Twain. "The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

They boarded the lift and all conversation ceased. It was all Hermione could do to stay on her feet. She judged that the goblin handled the sudden increase in gravitational pull due to his smaller stature. Hermione just grit her teeth and braced herself against the brass wall paneling as the lift shot up through who knew how many feet of rock tunnels. Soon, but not nearly soon enough, the lift jolted to a stop and the doors opened.

And Hermione remembered that she was hardly dressed for a London summer, never mind being dressed formally enough for a bank. She tugged roughly on her desert-dweller top and shorts, brushed sand from the tops of her trainers, and wandlessly performed a smoothing charm on her hair as it fell down her back after all her exertions. "I'm sorry for my lack of decorum, Senior Manager," she said stiffly.

"It can't be helped. Come. My office is this way."

The corridor was narrow, but the ceilings high as Nimrod led her to his office. "Ah, see that stone, there? Glowing red? That means I have visitors."

She swallowed over the pounding of her heart. "Weasleys?"

Nimrod looked up at her with kind eyes under the bushy gray brows. "Likely. Back straight, Miss Dagworth. You've performed credibly, returning our assets as best you could, and keeping the Curse-Breaker from mutilation." He sighed as he touched the square doorknob. "Humans are often so distressed by that."

With a quick breath, Hermione followed the goblin into his office.

* * *

 _ **28 July 2002, Ministry of Magic**_

"So that's what happened," Harry said, concluding his report to Alastor Moody, who was serving as Head Auror in their troubled time. "I still think that going in with the old D.A. was a better call than bringing in your Aurors. I know that none of them had any ties to the Death Eaters, which cannot be said for the entire Ministry."

Moody sighed and scratched at his jaw while he eyed the Pensieve on his desk. Harry eyed it as well before gesturing that he'd like his memories returned. Moody waved his wand in assent but didn't speak. Harry spun the silvery string of his memory from the Piccadilly Battle back into his mind. "Anything else?" he asked, his whole body feeling heavy and achy. "I just—I need to go home."

"No, we're good here, lad. You did well, you know. If you want to apply for a position here, when—when this is over?"

Harry snorted and scrubbed both hands through his hair. "Thanks. One war at a time, Moody."

"Ha! If you're lucky, lad. All right, away wi' ya. I'll come up to Farecliffe if I need anything more."

Nodding, Harry left the old Auror's office and maneuvered with heavy steps through the late-afternoon shift change within the Ministry. "Hey, Harry," he heard from time to time, from people familiar enough so that he nodded to them, but didn't stop.

Just as he reached the Floos, though, he heard, "Hey! Harry!"

Ron's call did stop him. "Merlin, man, you're hard to find," his friend said, breathless and pale.

Fear grabbed Harry's gut. "What is it?"

"Bill. He's at Gringotts."

The fear left him to be replaced by worry. "Did he, er, say what he was doing there?"

"No, mate. I just got a Patronus from Dad. Honest, Harry? I'm guessing he was injured and Portkeyed straight to Gringotts."

"He had a Portkey for Farecliffe as well," Harry muttered. "Still, he'd know best. All right. Let's go."

Ron clapped him on the shoulder with one broad hand. "You all right there, Harry? I know today was...blimey. Awful. Bloody awful."

"Just tired, Ron. I, I need to climb under a rock for tonight or something."

"I hear that. Let's get to Gringotts and see what's going on." With a slight change of plans, the men took the Floo from the Ministry and straight to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

It was open, but only barely, as—Verity informed them with a sad smile—Fred and George had run out minutes before. "They were heading to Gringotts," she said. Then, she smiled a little more at Ron. "Hope everything's all right with your brother."

"So do I. Thanks, Verity."

Harry and Ron decided to follow the twins' example and jog down Diagon Alley, dodging late shoppers and waving off any attempts at conversation. Upon reaching the imposing steps to the bank, they continued running right up the steps. They were met by a goblin standing in front of the heavy, iron-hinged doors.

"Ah! Lord Potter-Black. Mister Weasley. We've been expecting you. Come, come."

"Lord Potter-Black! How are you? I heard it was terrible in Piccadilly today!"

"Lord Potter-Black, where's your father? I had hoped to talk to him about my business proposal."

"Lord Potter-Black, is it true that you're betrothed to Luna Lovegood of the _Quibbler_?"

At that point, Ron stepped between the impertinent banking customer and Harry, for which Harry was quite grateful. Though no slouch himself, really, Harry had always acknowledged that Ron was his superior in terms of sheer physical size. "Enough. Harry's already fought off Death Eaters today. He doesn't need to fight off you lot, as well."

"I just wanted to offer—"

Ron took one long stride to put himself very much within an arm's reach of the persistent questioner. "I said that was enough. No. Harry and Luna hadn't made any formal arrangement, but she was our friend. Just like the others who, who gave everything to keep people safe. Enough." Stepping back, he took Harry's bicep in one hand and tugged him gently through the crazy, end-of-day banking madness that prevailed in Gringotts. "Where are we going?"

Harry let Ron drag him past the tellers, but then he shrugged off the helping hand. "I'm good, mate. Thanks. Bogrod, thank you for your escort today. Where are we going?"

It turned out to be a large office at the end of a long marble corridor. Dark wood accented the portals to the varying offices, and there were gems and torches around each opening. Bogrod paused with his hand on the door. "Mister Weasley, your parents are already here."

"Good, good. Thank you."

Harry sensed something was off and he settled his hand between Ron's shoulder blades as they entered the Senior Manager's office. The scene before him was heartbreaking.

"I'm so sorry," a female with an American accent was saying, all wrapped up in Molly Weasley's shaking embrace. "He was amazing, you know. Just amazing."

"No!" Ron shouted, darting past Molly and Arthur, past the goblins next to the enormous, dark desk off to one side, to land beside the twins, on his knees next to a pair of legs and feet encased in trainers. _Unmoving_ legs. _Familiar_ trainers. "Not Bill! The other ones didn't do this! What the bloody hell happened?"

Harry's focus shifted from Ron to Molly Weasley, who apparently gathered her composure as she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. "Oh, Harry."

"What happened?" he demanded quietly.

"Bill Weasley got the Horcrux from a dark serpent, holding his attention while I beheaded it," the American woman said, stepping to encompass Molly Weasley in what looked to be a comforting embrace. Harry didn't really see what she looked like; he was focused on Bill and then Arthur. The woman sighed heavily. "I hoped to save his life by using his emergency Portkey to bring him here."

Grief over another loss that day had Harry weaving on his feet so that Arthur moved to stand next to him with one arm around his shoulders. "I'm guessing it didn't work." Arthur shook his head and blinked tear-filled eyes. "Bloody hell," Harry whispered in subconscious echo of Ron's protesting cry. It took a huge effort, but he shook himself loose of Arthur's support, straightened his spine, and took a step toward the American. "Thank you for bringing him home, Miss . . .?"

Why Molly started wailing again and why Ron swore loudly on the floor as he looked up at the American woman at first confused Harry. Until the woman slowly turned around and he was overcome with the notion that he knew her. But he'd not met an American in all his travels. At least not one that looked like _her_.

Long brown hair with corkscrew-like curls, shot through with a gold like sunshine. Skin tanned a golden brown that made him remember a question that had pestered him a very long time ago. Brown eyes flecked with gold, a small nose, wide mouth, curves that would have made his fingers twitch under other circumstances, legs that went on forever, and a wand in the hip pocket of her shorts.

 _No_.

It was her words that finally, finally, let him know that _yes_ , this woman _was_ familiar. Her eyes were wary and sad when she said, still in that odd American accent, "Hello, Harry."

His heart stopped, he thought, and he went all light-headed. "Wait, what?"

"This is Hermione Dagworth, Lord Potter-Black," one of the goblins said. Harry didn't even look to see who.

The woman half-extended a hand to him. "I used to be Hermione Granger."

He shook his head, feeling his eyes burn fiercely. "Her—Hermione? But, but you're dead! They told me you were _dead_! Who are you and where did you—Did that _rag_ put you up to this?"

Her mouth dropped open as her hand fell, untaken. "What?"

"Harry, no!"

"Did they do to you like they did to that poor sod who had to go around looking like me?"

"No, Harry, lad, no," Mrs. Weasley said, coming around the woman to take Harry's hand in both of hers. "It's her."

"No! They said she was dead! All these years, they said she was dead!"

The woman who had been introduced as his Hermione just stared at him, her eyes going flat and lifeless. "Senior Manager Nimrod? I'll need a Portkey home."

The goblin in the silver striped tie made some sort of disgusted sound but moved past Harry to the door. "Come then, Miss Dagworth. I'll see that you get one right away."

Somehow, it was watching the woman open the door and walk away that convinced Harry. The walk—he'd watched her grow up and _knew_ how she _moved_ and no one could imitate something so much a part of the girl that he'd loved. Uncaring of whatever speculations might result, he shouted her name and ran out the door to follow her.

"Hermione!"

* * *

 _ **A/N:** The Mark Twain reference is a purposeful misquote. The actual quote is: "The report of my death was an exaggeration." However, it's been misquoted over the years so very often that this is the version most used, incorrect though it is. I figured it's also the version Hermione would have on the tip of her tongue, as she hasn't exactly had the time to look up the proper quotation._

 _And I am afraid I am leaving you on a cliff for a while. Because I'm heading off on vacation and the wi-fi is, again, uncertain. (And my extended family has no idea I write fanfic and they'd freak out. Siriusly.) So, what I *will* do is post a snippet before I go at my tumblr page (see my profile here) to tide you over._

 _I will catch up on all my authorial replies and so on when I get home, as well as bring you the next chapter and let you get off this cliff. :) But by the time you read this, I will likely be on the road! I have guest replies being moderated at this point, but I'll check my email when I can. If you review as a guest, there will be some delay in posting._

 _Be safe, be happy, and be careful around snakes. *nods* - LJ_


	11. Circumspectio

_A/N: I'm home! Sorry/Not Sorry for the cliff. Really, I'm not. Sorry that I'm not. There, that's better. But I AM posting today rather than Tuesday, so is that a decent apology?_

 _My thanks to everyone for their wishes for a good vacation! :) And a big thanks to **purlysurly** , who caught review #300!_

 _Thanks, **Katmom** , for finding the oddities in the first draft and for the smiles in my inbox. :) And thanks to EVERYONE who is reading and reviewing!_

* * *

 _From the last chapter:_

Somehow, it was watching the woman open the door and walk away that convinced Harry. The walk—he'd watched her grow up and _knew_ how she _moved_ and no one could imitate something so much a part of the girl that he'd loved. Uncaring of whatever speculations might result, he shouted her name and ran out the door to follow her.

"Hermione!"

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

 _ **28 July 2002, Gringotts**_

"Hermione!"

Harry's voice was different, she reflected as she continued to stride away from him. Senior Manager Nimrod, at her side, was scurrying to keep up, though, so she slowed down. The goblin slowed _again_ , and she thought she detected a slight smirk on his wrinkled face when she glanced down to match his pace.

He held up a hand. "Miss Dagworth. Please consider stopping."

"Hermione, please!"

On the verge of entering the main business area of Gringotts, Hermione did so. Most of the patrons had left, but the employees—human and goblin—remained. None of them even pretended to avert their gazes. "Now you believe me?" she inquired quietly. Her heart felt like it was being crushed between boulders of granite. Pressed, broken, but still trying hard to keep beating. Harry possessed the space in front of her, becoming a barrier between herself and the prying eyes. Did he even notice them, anymore? They used to bother him so much.

His eyes—so green, so very green—were filled with a liquid tempest. "I do. I just, you don't know what—" A tear fell and he dashed it away with obvious impatience. "It's been a bloody awful day, Hermione, and I can't—couldn't!—take it in. But, yeah. I do."

Relief soothed her, taking those boulders away for a bit. "All right. Good."

"Miss Dagworth? Your Portkey?"

She stared into Harry's eyes for a few moments, trying to decide what to do. She didn't want to leave him, but she had responsibilities and there was still the rest of that snake and—

"Please stay," Harry murmured. "Please. If only to tell me what happened. I'm so . . . I don't know. Am I dreaming this?" His voice broke as he asked it, his focus dropping to her hair. He actually reached for it, his fingers tangling with the mess left over from her own _bloody awful_ day.

His touch prompted hers. He was so much taller than she was, that she had to reach a bit to make a futile effort at smoothing his hair. It was longer than it used to be, tied back, with several loose locks escaping near his ears. She ran her fingers through them. "Not dreaming. Not unless I am as well," she whispered. She trembled, then, for a moment, terrified that this was real. Terrified that the emotion she saw in his eyes was _real_ and that she still carried it for him, as well.

Terrified as to what it might mean for today and tomorrow. And the battles they were both clearly fighting, within and without.

Senior Manager Nimrod cleared his throat. "I can have that Portkey made with a pass phrase instead of a time, Miss Dagworth. So you could use it at your leisure."

Harry's brows rose in an obvious appeal for her to agree. She nodded. "Thank you, Senior Manager. I'd appreciate that." It was just then that she felt the stares of the others in the building and realized that she and Harry were still finger-tangled in one another's hair. Dropping her hand, she swallowed down a few things like pride and a stubborn need to punish Harry for something. She didn't even know what had happened, but something in her wanted to strike back.

But at whom? And for what? She didn't know, but she felt sure that Bill Weasley had had the right of it and someone would pay for what they'd done to her and Harry.

"I'll bring it back to my office, if you'd wait there," the goblin said, seemingly oblivious to the tension between them.

Harry nodded and slid his hand down from her hair to her arm, his fingers trailing until they encompassed her entire hand. "That would be great, Nimrod. Thank you. C'mon, Hermione. Let's get back. Bill. Merlin. I need to know what happened."

"We have a lot to talk about," she replied as she slid her hand from his.

He started back along the marble corridor, a low murmur rising behind them. They both ignored it. Offering his hand again, he held it out as they slowly kept pace with one another. "Please, Hermione? I'm afraid you'll disappear again. I can't handle that. Not today."

With some reluctance, she heeded his request and slid her hand into his once more. As they made a slower way back to Nimrod's office, Hermione surreptitiously studied Harry from the corner of her eye. She saw the scoring on the elbow of his shirt, the wrinkles at the edges of his eye, and she caught the faint smells of smoke and sulphur.

And then, she _felt_ it.

 _It_.

The dangerous, pulsing, repelling compulsion that meant Dark Magic to her body. The part of her that would forever be tainted, she had chained to her use, but it was eerie.

"Do you have any dark artifacts on you, Harry?" she murmured just before they opened the heavy door.

"No, why?"

Nodding, she let her mind get to work on that whilst she prepared herself to see the Weasleys again. "Later, I guess."

After a moment, he inclined his head. "All right. Ready?"

"I think so."

* * *

Ron was waiting, along with the twins, in the goblin's office when Harry and Hermione returned to it. Fred and George, eyes red-rimmed with grief, nevertheless surrounded Hermione with murmurs of awe and wonder and a demand for a full accounting of where she'd been for the past several years.

"Mum wanted to get Bill . . . back home," George explained when Hermione wordlessly indicated the empty floor where the Curse-Breaker had been. "Sorry. I think she was just distraught."

"She said she wanted everyone over, though. Dinner." Ron tugged with evident discomfort at the hem of his shirt. "I think she just . . . needed to be home."

Hermione nodded, biting her lip and reaching for something around her neck that she appeared to be disconcerted not to find.

"Is something wrong, Hermione?" Harry asked quietly, indicating her neck with a slight hand gesture. There was so much about her that was familiar, and still so many things he didn't understand.

"Why did Dumbledore lie about you?" Fred said in a rocky voice. "And we need to hear about Bill. Really. A snake? Our brother survives cursed Egyptian tombs and a snake in the States does him in? Gordon _Bennett_ , Granger!" He shook his head with obvious frustration.

George's eyes were still brimming with tears when he tugged both of Hermione's hands into his in a move that Harry—despite all he'd been through that day—didn't miss. "What happened to him?"

"I told your parents, George. Perhaps—"

"No. You were _there_ , Granger. Tell us."

She turned to meet Harry's eye. "You want to hear this?" Biting her lip, she appeared to study him and he reciprocated. Did she want to hide something from him?

He had so many questions for her. "I do. And then we can go to Farecliffe."

"Your estate. Right. Of course." She flicked her tongue over her lips and moved to sit on a chair a bit apart from the twins and Ron. Harry wavered, standing, wondering if he could or should sit beside her or if his support would be needed with the Weasley brothers. He'd come to rely on Ron, especially, over the past years, once Hermione had died—

Only, she _hadn't_. Devastating confusion briefly had him shutting his eyes against wrenching pain. He pulled one of the goblin's chairs to a point in a makeshift square that was midway along the perimeter between Fred and Hermione, watching her as she marshaled her thoughts in the old, familiar way that made him want to smile even though it hurt.

"I've been with a Yavapai coven, in Arizona," she began slowly, dropping her laced-together fingers over her knees. "Researching dark magics, and how to identify them, as well as other things. The perspective from the Native Magicals, there, is much more open and inclusive than it is here, and I learnt a great deal." Her accent began a slow slide back to British, Harry heard, but he didn't mention it.

"How'd you get out there? We thought—" Ron began.

Fred hushed him with a sharp motion of one hand. "Bill first, yeah, Ron?"

Hermione nodded. "We caught Yaxley—he's a Death Eater, you know?"

"We know," Harry said softly.

She nodded once more. "Well, he had a letter of introduction from England's Minister for Magic, which granted him the freedom to travel in the States and so on, without being arrested as long as he committed no crimes on American soil." The twins rolled their eyes and Harry suppressed a sad smile. No doubt Fred and George could think of fifty ways to cause trouble without _actually_ committing a crime. "How," Hermione asked, leaning forward, "did he get such a comprehensive letter? Doesn't the Minister check for Dark Marks or anything? I know I've been . . . away . . . for quite some time, but has that much really changed?"

Harry held up a hand. "One thing at a time, Hermione."

She bit her lip and dropped her gaze, so much as she had when they'd been children together that it made him smile. "Right, then. So, we felt a stirring in Montezuma's Castle, the heart of the magic, there, and I was asked to investigate it as we could feel the evil it brought."

"But you? Why?" Harry leaned forward, half-reaching for her hand before she moved back before rising to her feet. "Did you, did you learn more about the Dark Arts in America?"

Her eyes, when they met his, were wary and sad. "Yes. I, I have what one might call a sensor, courtesy of the curse that took me down." She touched her upper chest, exposed by the low neckline of her top that Harry had managed not to stare at the past few minutes. "Here. It's the curse. It left a scar, Harry."

It was pink, but not a bright pink, not the pink of healing tissue. The scar was a bruised, unhealthy line that poked above her top into view. "Hermione . . ."

"Bloody hell, 'Mione," Ron murmured. "That's . . . how old is that? Looks like it just happened last week or something."

Hermione's focus shifted with something like appreciation to Ron's face. "Six years. Since the Ministry." The twins swore as well, softly, as Hermione shifted her hands to the bottom of her shirt and pulled up at the hem. "It's quite long, goes past my waist, see?"

"Hermione," Harry whispered, staring at the brutal evidence of yet another failure. "I'm so sorry." He made himself look up at her face, hoping not to see hatred or resentment there. But no, there was a calm acceptance, a steadfastness that appealed to him.

"The Montezuma Coven told me that it was a test, getting this. I'm not sure. If I'm right, the same spell that did this to me, killed Neville that night. It was only through his sacrifice that I was able to shield myself enough to live." She swept her gaze across all of them in the office. "Did Neville get some sort of posthumous reward for his bravery? His grandmother? Someone?"

Abashed, Harry shook his head. "I'll look into that, though. You're right. It's just, well, so much else was happening and—"

"And he was in mourning, Hermione."

Harry held up a hand again. "George. Not now. Bill, right?"

A deep question burned in Hermione's eyes, but he ignored it, merely cocking his brow and waiting until she nodded. "Bill. Right. So, I felt the magic and knew from reports that I'd heard through, well, channels . . . that you were looking for dark artifacts."

Harry could practically hear the remaining Weasley men become tense. He himself rose to his feet. "What channels?"

With a distant look, she shook her head. "You have your secrets, we have ours," she said, her voice again American in flavor. "I didn't know what sort, though, so I persuaded my teacher, Adam Quanah, to write to Lord Black, as he was known to be looking for them."

 _Adam?_ Something about the way she said his name set an alarm off in Harry's awareness, but he put it aside. Perhaps it was just the accent? _Bill_ , he reminded himself. One more death on a day that had seen far too many.

Like Luna's.

Merlin, how had he let that slip? _I need to go on holiday,_ he mused, blowing out a breath and renewing his focus on Hermione.

"Dad, er, Sirius?" At her nod, he continued. "Dad called in Bill." He directed a remorseful look to Ron and his brothers. "I'm sorry. If we had known . . ."

Fred rubbed one hand over his face. "We know. He was proud to have been able to fight that way, Harry. He went out taking down a piece of that black bastard, right, Hermione?"

"He did," she whispered. "He held the snake's attention so I could chop off its head, freeing the, the Dark Magic. He was ready to collect it, but . . . I'm sorry. I couldn't stop it. I'd cut off the thing's head and it _still_ attacked. I don't know how. I did everything I could, but Bill wanted me to get the piece of the soul—the Horcrux, I think he called it. He was still breathing and he told me to get it first, so I did." She dropped to her bare knees before the twins, taking one hand in each of hers, and Harry could practically feel the tears that tracked down her tanned skin. "I put him in stasis, and then I used his emergency Portkey to bring us here. I just wasn't fast enough. Maybe if we'd brought in Adam to the hunt as well, one of us could have saved him while the other captured the soul piece, but . . ." She sniffled a bit. "I'm sorry. He was amazing, you know. It was like nothing fazed him at all about any of it except maybe the heat." She smiled and rested her gaze on each Weasley in turn, as if Harry wasn't even there. "He faced the snake, even when it was clearly trying to attack him, and he kept it occupied without losing his sense of humor, the whole time. He will be honored by my coven."

Fred dropped his head for a moment before lifting it to exchange a look with his twin. "Earring."

"Yeah," George murmured with an emphatic nod. He shifted a bit to withdraw Bill Weasley's famous fang earring from a pocket. "Here. Dunno, but I think he'd want you to have it."

"Maybe for whatever honoring your coven does."

"I think he'd maybe laugh to know that that fang—"

"Baby dragon fang. Charlie brought it for him as a souvenir—"

"Would be used to keep his memory in a far away place."

"D'you think your coven is as far as Egypt?" Fred wondered, a light in his brown eyes that made Harry want to smile at the same time he wanted to tuck Hermione under one arm and Apparate her directly to Farecliffe.

Hermione took the offered earring with the saddest smile Harry could remember seeing on her face. "Farther," she whispered. "Baby dragon. I guess an adult dragon fang might be too big."

George chuckled and Fred pulled at a lock of Hermione's hair. Ron glanced at Harry, a question on his face that Harry couldn't answer. Instead, he cleared his throat. "I'd like to see where he was, in America, Hermione. Could you take me?"

Cupping the earring in both hands, she rose gracefully to her feet, expression once again impassive. "I think so, yes. I'd like to check with Adam, though, first."

The door opened then and Nimrod entered the office, a silver disc in his hands that was about the size of a saucer. "Miss Dagworth, I have your Portkey. Is your business here concluded?"

She blinked and inhaled sharply through her nose before answering. "Yes, Senior Manager Nimrod. I did wonder, however, if I could send a Patronus from your office?"

The goblin handed over the Portkey, which Hermione slid absently into the woven bag she'd kept on her shoulder the entire time she'd been in Gringotts. "Well, I suppose you can," the goblin answered with a frown at the wand still in Hermione's pocket. "But you have to be careful. With just us in this office, I give you permission, yes."

Harry couldn't help the small smile on his face as Hermione shifted the earring to her left hand and gripped her wand in her right. " _Expecto Patronum_!" she called with sincerity and confidence. He remembered the night he'd taught her how to summon her Patronus, the bear that she claimed was female. "To Adam," she said to the surprisingly solid, but still ethereal, presence. "I'm in England. The Curse-Breaker . . . was slain, but we succeeded in our mission. The Castle is safe again. I'll be back as soon as I'm able." After a moment, the bear turned and ran through the closed office door. Hermione watched it with a pained look on her face. "That's that, then," she said softly. "Right. So. Any other questions I can answer right now?" She canted her head toward Harry. "I've had a bloody awful day myself, Harry, and could use a shower."

"So could I."

"Us as well," the Weasley twins chimed in, their voices solemn but still in sync.

Ron nodded and crossed the office to offer a light embrace to Hermione. "Good to see you, 'Mione." Leaning away from her, he still kept his hands on her shoulders. "Glad you're not dead."

That brought a chuckle from all the males, even the goblin, but Hermione only smiled sadly. "I never was." She took a sharp breath and turned to bow her head to the goblic. "Senior Manager Nimrod, thank you again for your quick actions, today. And, well, for not bouncing me back out of Britain."

The goblin scowled. "I will have words with Dumbledore, if he dares show his face in Gringotts again."

Hermione blinked, clearly startled. "What? Harry? What's happened?"

Grimacing, Harry shook his head. "We have a lot of catching up to do, don't we?" At her nod, he indicated the office door to the Weasley men. "Lads, I am so sorry about Bill."

"So am I!" Hermione said, her voice soft.

"If there's anything I can do," Harry went on, "send word, all right? Ron? I'll firecall soon. Senior Manager Nimrod, thank you for everything."

"Curse-Breaker Weasley was a valuable member of our staff, Mister Potter-Black. His contributions will be remembered. He has no heir, so his vault will remain locked until such time as his Head of House will lay claim to it."

Harry nodded. Business was a goblin's delight, even if Harry didn't want to think about Galleons and vaults and lines of inheritance at the moment. "Thank you. I'll be sure to notify his Head of House. Let's go."

Nimrod escorted them to the door of the bank, which had emptied of all but a few goblins who were still tallying figures at their desks. With subdued courtesies, the humans left the building.

"We'll get on back to the shop, then. Tell Verity what happened, and then Floo to the Burrow." Fred murmured as they took the steps down to the street. "Coming Ron?"

"Yeah. Harry, Hermione. Soon, yeah?"

"Yeah." Harry nodded and offered his arm to Hermione. "Easiest way to get to the estate," he said softly, ignoring the eyes of the people dashing about on their Diagon Alley errands, "is the Floo, since you're not known to the wards and all."

"All right. To the Leaky, then?"

"Yeah."

He relished the feel of her hand in the crook of his elbow, the way her hair caught in the evening breeze, even the manner in which he had to shorten his strides to match hers. All the warmth of these observations, however, seeped away into a cold, aching nothingness as they entered the Leaky Cauldron.

"What is it?" Hermione inquired as he inadvertently halted them just inside the pub.

"Bloody awful day. Let's . . . let's go home and I'll tell you over a cuppa."

She moved to stand in front of him, forthright as she had ever been, lips compressed and eyes narrowed as she focused on him. "Right, then."

"Harry?"

"Harry Potter!"

"Who's that, Harry?"

He ignored them all, merely half-dragging Hermione through the curious patrons of the Leaky to the fireplace. He had his own Floo powder, which he accessed from a pouch in an inner pocket. "Farecliffe Hall!" he called.

Hand-twined with Hermione, he stepped into the Floo, more weighed down by a day than he could remember feeling in years.

* * *

 _A/N: Harry and Hermione are not going to be immediately renewing their romance, but they are seeking mutual comfort in their friendship, which had been horribly interrupted._

 _Next chapter should be on Thursday (as I'm posting this on Monday, not on Tuesday as heretofore planned). But who knows. I might get adventurous._


	12. Socia

_**A/N:** Thank you so much, everyone who is reading, adding this fic to their lists, and **reviewing**! I curtsy to **Katmom the Magnificent** for her willingness to read this coming out of the convoluted (and often fatal) soil of my mind._

 _So I got adventurous and decided to post today._

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve**

 ** _28 July 2002, Diagon Alley_**

"I need to get back to my son," Sirius Black was telling the Head Auror _pro tem_. "He's had a bloody awful day and I don't want him to be alone with it."

"Well, before you go, I need to tell you something. Both of you."

Sirius wanted to sneer at the third person in Moody's office. He truly did. But he couldn't, not after what Harry had told him, years before. Since the day that Harry left Hogwarts, Sirius had known that Dumbledore had wronged Severus Snape as well as so many others. In the years since, Snape had disappeared, sending word as to Dumbledore's movements. Once a spy, Remus had quipped, always a spy.

Even if the greasy git was thoroughly on their side. Snape—no longer could Sirius call him _Snivellus_ , for Harry had roasted him for that once and made him actually feel ashamed of himself—leaned against one of the office walls with a bored aspect. "Moody. My Portkey is scheduled for half an hour."

"You'll be gone by then, Snape. Keep your trousers on." Sirius smirked until Mad-Eye's mad eye swirled to focus on him. "And you, Black, you caused enough trouble in the run of your life. You'd think you'd have better instincts."

Sirius pushed himself up from the uncomfortable chair he'd chosen earlier. "What is it, Mad-Eye?" His limbs thrummed with the need to get back to Harry.

Moody tipped his chair back as he eyed each man. "Dumbledore."

Snape snapped to a rigid posture, wand out and pointing at Moody. "Where. Is. He."

Sirius didn't have his wand out—he had too much respect for Moody—but he had subconsciously adopted a dueling posture. "What about him?"

"He tracked me down, the arse, and asked me to help him find Harry. Rumor had it, of course, that Harry's been being trained privately. You, Sirius, and a 'select group' of people, as he's heard. He's been unable to gather much more specific information." The Auror cocked his remaining eyebrow. "Apparently, any _encounters_ you've had, you've had the birds take oaths or something?"

"Black!" Snape sounded disgusted. "Really?"

Sirius rubbed at his jaw, but didn't apologize. "Protecting Harry is my main concern. But I wasn't going to have both of us live in a cave. Been there. Done that. Not my cup of tea."

Snape made a show of checking his watch. "Albus Dumbledore has the blackest heart in England. If it were up to me alone, I'd have Avada'd him years ago. But I made your . . . your son a promise, Black. I won't renege."

Alastor perked up. "He didn't tell me why he'd been maintaining a low profile."

It was an invitation to confide, but Sirius wasn't sure he could. He exchanged a look with Snape. _Do we tell him?_

Snape grimaced, his lips making a thin white line in his already pale face. "Fine."

With a nod, Sirius approached Moody's desk. "You'll have to take an oath."

"Not on my magic!" Mad-Eye protested, rising to his feet and planting his fists on the desk. "No oaths. No more secrets, blast your eyes!"

"An oath!" Snape insisted, aligning himself with Sirius Black in a move that surprised every person in the room. "Justice will be found, but the boy needs time to make sure he can supply it."

"Justice!" Moody shouted, almost spitting in a display of outrage that Sirius was sure was at least partly feigned. The man had a flare for drama, always had. "I'm an Auror, you bloody berk, and I'll bring justice if it's needed!"

"No!" Sirius slammed the flat of his hand on the wooden desk. "No, you will not. Harry will. It's his right and I won't gainsay it. So your oath or your ignorance, Moody!"

The tension in the room was stiff and heavy as both Black and Snape backed away from the Auror. Snape smirked when he saw Black toss up a wordless shield. He did likewise. No need to take risks. "Well?" he drawled after a few moments.

"Fine. But I reserve the right to hex you, Black, if what you tell me does not require that kind of secrecy."

"Me?" Black protested, looking wounded. "What about him?" he demanded with a gesture at Snape.

"You're the one who asked for it first. You take responsibility."

"Fine. Take it."

Sirius watched and listened carefully to Moody's oath of secrecy. His magic would be taken from him if he told the secret to anyone other than Snape, Harry, or Sirius himself before one of those three gave him leave. Oh, Mad-Eye wasn't happy, not a jot, but he did it. Then, the old Auror sat back and made a "Come on" gesture.

Sirius once again exchanged a glance with Snape. "Fine," the other man said once again. "I'll do it." He sighed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I was _attempting_ to teach Mister Potter-Black his first lesson in Occlumency, years ago, to help shield his mind against the Dark Lord."

"Good idea," Moody remarked. "And?"

"I pushed him. Made him try to fight me out whilst I delved into the memory he most often was confronted with when the Dementors attacked. It seemed the best place to start, as it was a point of fear for him." Moody nodded as Sirius grimaced. He hated that Harry had had to endure that, but what they found was even worse. Snape told Moody what he'd seen, ending with, "And Lily Evans was killed."

"Well, we knew that."

"By Albus Dumbledore."

The air turned almost blue with Moody's vitriol. Fury. Ire. Disbelief, betrayal, astonishment. "I'll kill him. Right now!"

Sirius chuckled wearily. "That's what I said, too. But Harry reminded me that we don't have any evidence. They didn't save the memory in a Pensieve."

"Well, he should do that," Alastor insisted. "What were you thinking? That's evidence for a trial!"

"Harry doesn't plan on giving him a trial," Sirius said flatly. "He's been training, and you'e helped him. He has to defeat Voldemort and then he wants Dumbledore's arse."

"So do I," Snape muttered.

Mad-Eye stomped around, his peg leg sounding extra hard that evening on the floor of his office. "Fine. No hexing. Tonight. But. I want to be kept informed."

"What did you tell Dumbledore?" Sirius asked, his voice almost threatening. "When he asked for your help?"

Alastor smirked, feeling the tiniest bit smug as he angled a quick glance to Snape. "Well, I told him I'd tell him the next time I saw Harry, of course. I can be a good spy too, you know."

Snape, surprisingly, felt like smiling. "And I imagine you'll arrange to meet Harry in some open place from whence he'll depart immediately thereafter before Dumbledore arrives?"

"That was the plan."

"Fine. Now can I go to my son? And you, Moody, I need to know where you saw Dumbledore and how he gets in touch with you. If he's been tracking me, I need to know how well he's doing."

Snape checked his watch again, in a most obvious manner. "If we've concluded our business this evening?"

"Go, go, both of ya. I'll be in touch."

* * *

 ** _Farecliffe Hall_**

She arrived, stumbling and seeking purchase under her trainers, into Harry's . . . estate. Farecliffe Hall. Everyone knew its name, but no one could actually gain access, apparently. The Wizarding News had its own gossip reporters. The room—a study, she thought it might be—had pale walls adorned with pictures of Harry and Sirius and Remus Lupin, individually and in groups. The furniture was dark and heavy, and the floor was made of wide oak planks.

"You all right, there, Hermione?" Harry inquired softly. She felt his magic move over her in a gentle way, removing the Floo ashes from her clothes.

She shivered. "I am, just a bit chilled. Very different from Arizona."

He nodded and, all at once, he slumped and wove, barely making it to a leather chair not two paces away. There were at least fifty things she wanted to know immediately, but she couldn't ignore his obvious exhaustion. Once, she might have run to him, falling on her knees and taking his hands, as she'd done with the twins not long before, and beg him to tell her what was wrong. Once she might have already known and been prepared with comforting words to offer him.

But they weren't children any longer and she didn't know how he had spent his day. Only that it had been bloody awful. So, rubbed her arms, adjusted her bag, felt vainly for her crystal—the Horcrux from the snake had basically kept it when she put it in the dragonhide bag—and then sat in the chair nearest to Harry. Almost, she reached out to him.

Almost. Instead, she rubbed at her chilled knees and studied him. He pulled his hair from its queue so that it hung about his jaw to his shoulders. He held his head in his hands at first before sighing heavily and leaning back in the chair so that his long legs sprawled in front of him, legs apart as his arms dangled over the arms of the chair. She'd seen his picture in different Wizarding publications, so knew that he no longer wore glasses, but still, seeing him without them—he felt so different, yet so much the same. She knew him.

But she didn't. Not anymore.

He pried one eye open and his head lolled over so that he was looking at her. Every line of his body spoke of sorrow and exhaustion. But. She could still feel It. Whatever it was that was in him that his Rune guarded or warded or something. It made her scar ache, just then, and she was hard put not to let it show on her face.

At length, he opened his mouth and shifted in his chair, extending his nearest hand toward hers. She took it slowly, still not sure if it was the right thing to do, but thinking that he looked awful.

"I'm not dreaming? You're sure?" he whispered as his fingers brushed hers.

"I'm sure. Though I have to wonder if you were hit on the head to even think you're dreaming right now."

His lips tilted in a wry smile. "Well. I dunno. Look at you. Really, no, you're right. I'm not dreaming. I could never have dreamt you to look like you do right now."

His eyes were tired but warm and she blushed to see the honesty that shone in them. "Right. Dirty, scuffed, my hair everywhere."

"I think I could stare at you all day."

"Well, don't. I'd rather have you tell me what happened today. I know it wasn't me that made you so tired and . . . worn, Harry. Like you looked after the Third Task."

Harry blinked before he closed his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face. "Worse, 'Mione," he confessed, his voice rasping with obvious emotion as his shoulders shook. Abandoning her wish to be careful, she left her chair and moved to sit on the arm of his, so she could encompass his shoulders with her arms. He leaned into her so naturally that it made her throat tight.

His turn, she reminded herself. Oh, she had problems and grievances—and they both needed a shower—but he needed her. And after so many years of thinking he didn't, she couldn't turn from him when he did. "What happened, today?"

His voice was muffled against her thigh when he spoke. She doubted he was even aware of the intimacy of their arrangement. She had to swallow her heart back into her chest as she felt his breath on her bare skin. "There was a battle today. Death Eaters. Piccadilly."

"Oh, Harry . . ." She moved to run her fingers through his hair. He turned his head a little and sighed. She shivered to feel his breath on a different part of her thigh, but kept silent on that score.

"Tonks told me it would happen. She's got . . . sources. It was a nightmare, 'Mione. A bleeding nightmare. Muggles everywhere. Children, even. And the Death Eaters were all masked. Luna—" His voice broke and Hermione's fingers clenched involuntarily. "Luna said that would be more dangerous. Intrigue the Muggles. She was, she was right."

"How is Luna?"

He looked up at her, his eyes wet and tortured. "She died, Hermione. Died in front of me."

Hermione shut her eyes and gathered him close to her, barely noticing when he shifted and brought her close to his chest, instead. He cried, then, his tears soaked up by her hair, his arms trembling. At length, Hermione had to wonder what his relationship had been with Luna Lovegood to warrant such grief.

She couldn't bring herself to ask.

* * *

 _ **28 Jul 2002, River Esk, Scotland**_

Albus Dumbledore was in his rocking chair along the River Esk, smoking his pipe once again and thinking. Tracking down Harry Potter, as he'd spent years and not a few Galleons trying to do, seemed a pointless enterprise. Perhaps Alastor had decided not to help, after all. It was irksome.

How could he arrange for Tom's redemption—or demise—without the prophesied one?

Having told Harry about the Horcruxes, Dumbledore knew for a certainty that the lad would go in pursuit of them. So he decided, that evening whilst puffing on his pipe, to go in search of one himself. Then, he'd have one to hold hostage against the time that Harry was ready to confront Tom.

With a chuckle, Albus rocked up and on to his feet. "He'll have to come to me, then," he muttered with satisfaction. "And we'll handle this evading Albus business. Yes, I should have thought of this before."

He hadn't because his focus had been on re-establishing control over the boy as well as staying hidden. He didn't know what brought Harry and Severus to leave Hogwarts at the same time, precisely, but it couldn't have been good. Continued lack of contact, of course, had only cemented Albus's speculations that the cause had something to do with Lily Evans, the only point of contact between Severus and Harry.

But what? Severus's love as a student? Had Harry threatened the man? Had the Occlumency lesson gone awry, revealing some of what had occurred during the 70's, when the unfortunate rivalry between James Potter and Severus had commenced?

He had just stepped back into the cottage, though he left the door open to hear the comforting sound of the Esk into his dwelling, when the bright form of a Patronus leapt through the open door.

It was a leopard, with the barest darkening of the silver to indicate spots. "Ah, Alastor!" Albus said, tapping his pipe in his palm.

"Albus! He's been seen at the Ministry. The one you wanted me to watch for. Without his watchdog. Hurry."

A thrill of delight, of expectation, rippled through the old wizard as the Patronus paced the width of the parlor in the cottage. Of course, Alastor's Patronus was as suspicious seeming as the man himself. After all seemed to be well, the leopard curled its tail and ran out of the room, dissipating into nothingness just beyond the door.

"So! Harry's at the Ministry without Sirius! That is a surprise. It's been years since they've been seen there out of each other's company. Excellent." Albus rubbed his hands together and nodded. "Hurry, he said. And so I shall." With barely a thought toward the needed basics of Apparition, Dumbledore turned his wand in the air and popped out of his family cottage.

Arriving at the traditional Apparition Point for the Ministry for Magic, Albus took a quick study of the vicinity. Muggle London was so very busy, especially considering that many businesses in the Wizarding world were closing for the night. He spelled himself with a wandless glamour and made his way to the entrance. He had considered going by Floo, but he didn't want the location of his cottage to be recorded at the Ministry.

Eventually, he was inside and was prepared to Obliviate the security clerk on wand-identification duty when he saw none other than Sirius Black, striding importantly toward the Floo bank. He was followed at much slower pace by Severus Snape.

The sight had Albus's blood run cold in his body and he almost dropped his glamour. Almost. At the last moment, he shored it up again and tried to calm his racing heart. There weren't too many people around and, after a few moments, the security clerk made a notation and rose from his station. The Ministry was closed for the day.

Relief replaced his dread, and curiosity followed after, so Albus hurried as quickly as he dared toward the lifts, where he would go to reach Alastor's office. He was just making sure that the lifts were empty, when Alastor himself emerged from one two down. His magical eye swung this way and that and, seeing Albus, he nodded in obvious satisfaction, stomping across the floor to reach him.

"Albus," the old Auror hissed. "You missed him. I couldn't detain him longer."

"What was Sirius Black doing here, Alastor? And Severus Snape?"

Alastor rocked back on the heel of his only boot and pursed his lips. The effect was . . . odd. "That git? Here? Where?" His magical eye swerved this way and that, but Albus wasn't entirely fooled, though he did—mostly—trust his old friend. "Didn't see him, Albus, but when I do I'll hex him."

Choosing to move on, Albus cleared his throat. "And Sirius Black?"

"Him, I saw. He was giving me a debrief on the battle at Piccadilly in Muggle London."

"What?" Albus was shocked. "No, not a battle. That's entirely too dangerous, among the Muggles, Alastor. What were you thinking?"

"Me? I wasn't there! The boy utterly bypassed all official channels, Albus. But when he came here, I heard what he had to say and then I sent for you."

Irritation simmered but Albus tried to keep it under control. "What did he have to say?" he asked, taking a quick look around to see that no one was currently leaving the Floos. He and Alastor were quite alone.

"Death Eaters, Albus. They were apparently intent on creating chaos in Muggle London. I'm not sure what the Dark Git is doing, but it took a squad of Obliviators to make sure the Muggles don't know, either."

"Harry was all right, though? Not hurt?" He still needed to face Tom, after all.

A dark look passed over Alastor's face. "Fine. He's been well-trained by that godfather of his. And the werewolf, apparently." He snorted. "Sorry you missed him."

 _No, you're not. Not quite, old friend_ , Albus mused. What was Alastor playing at? He studied the grizzled Auror for a few moments. He could kill him. Make it look as though Death Eaters had raided the Ministry and caught him unawares. Alastor could quite possibly be lauded as a hero, with a front page tribute in the _Daily Prophet_. Or Albus could endeavor to Obliviate the man, but Mad-Eye Moody had developed a reputation for being resistant to mind magics.

So perhaps not this evening. "I am as well, old friend. Do you know where he went after he left here? A pub, perhaps?"

"No. I reckon he wanted to get home." Alastor scowled. "He saw friends fight and die in battle, Albus. That takes its toll on a man."

"That it does, Alastor. Well then. Until next time."

Alastor Moody blew out a breath once he was sure Dumbledore had left the building. He was shaking with rage and the suppressed need to curse the bastard with something painful and long-lasting, but not lethal. He wanted Dumbledore to suffer.

Justice demanded it and Justice would be satisfied.

* * *

 _A/N: Remember, sneak peeks into the next chapter will be available probably tomorrow on my tumblr blog. Sometimes, I find an illustration from the web. Sometimes, it's just the fic cover. Always, there's an excerpt and a posting date. . .which has been known to change. Oops?_


	13. Primum Gradus

_A/N: More conversation, and Sirius Black gets home at last, to find his son has a . . . guest!_

 _Thank you, everyone, for adding this story to your lists, reading, and especially reviewing! ;-) All hail to **Katmom** , who finds the spoonful of sugar in everything. :)_

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen**

 ** _28 July 2002, Farecliffe Hall_**

It didn't seem real.

She was in his arms, smelling like magic and dry, arid places—foreign and strange—as well as earth and sweat and ash. Sweet curves and bare skin in his lap, wild hair under his chin. Harry didn't know if he wanted to open his eyes again or not. "You were dead," was all he could whisper.

"I wasn't." She shifted and pushed back a little to look him in the eye. Her own gaze was narrow and intense. When she shifted again and turned to put her feet on the floor, he let her go. His body missed her, though.

And that was an odd thought, he knew as she began to pace the length of the room. Her face was set, save for those eyebrows of hers, which angled up and down in the old way, as she conducted some sort of internal dialogue. _His body missed her_. His body had not, really, ever _known_ hers. Not in the way it had known others. Encounters that left him ashamed, now, knowing she was alive. But since she had been, why had she stayed away?

"Why?" he asked, stopping her strides. "Why didn't you come home? Write me? Call? Something? Didn't you know what Dumbledore—" He grit his teeth together against rage and impotent sorrow as he focused on the tip of her scar that he could see above her neckline. "What he'd told everyone? Hermione, I couldn't even _breathe_ when I found out what happened to you."

Her face went red and she clenched her fists at her sides. "Why? I wrote, Harry. I wrote all the time. I wasn't allowed anything magical, did you know? The curse, it almost killed me; that much is true. I woke up in the States and I couldn't use magic. I—I didn't even _wake_ up for weeks." Her breathing went ragged as her eyes welled with tears. "I wrote and wrote. I had tutors who let me use their owls, but no one ever answered. I tried Muggle mail, but no one ever answered. I wrote to you, to all our friends, even to Professor McGonagall. Not once did I get an answer from anyone. My parents told me Sirius had been killed. They made me believe—" Her voice broke and she spun away from him to look at the fireplace. "They made me believe that you didn't care about me, since I'd been injured and we'd failed to save Sirius. That no one cared. That I didn't matter, anymore. They intercepted my mail even from Ilvermony, listened in on the rare call I did get from professors, did everything possible to pry me out of the magical world."

"I tried to talk to your parents," Harry told her, his voice strained. "They returned my letters at first, and then they disappeared. I tried finding them, but—I didn't even think to look abroad. Except in France, because you'd vacationed there. Neville's gran won't speak to me, either. She blames me." Hermione uttered a sharp sound but he shook his head. "I blame myself. For him. For you. For years, Hermione."

"For years, Harry," she echoed, her accent more American than English at that moment. "I had to read about you and, and all those women. All over Europe." She winced and he did as well, able to imagine how he would have felt if their situations had been reversed.

"Why didn't you come back?"

"It hurt!" she cried, glaring at him through her tears. " _You_ didn't want me! No one did, as far as I knew. I'd failed and was ignored and forgotten, so why should I go back? I knew I could do some good elsewhere, so I have." She tilted her chin up and wiped at her wet cheeks with her fingers. "I learned. The magic you and I grew up knowing isn't all there is out there. There's more and I've learned much about it."

"But, so far away? Why didn't you come back Muggle-fashion, if you couldn't use magic? Hermione, I—" He faltered at the fierce fire that flared in her eyes.

"You what? _Needed_ me?"

It had been what he wanted to say, but it would clearly have been the wrong thing, no matter how true. But there were other truths, too. "I missed you," he said softly. "I would have come to you if I'd known you were alive. Even if your parents hated me."

She stared at him, her expression softening by degrees. "I know you would have, Harry. I know."

"So why didn't you?"

"I didn't even get to leave the house for almost a year, and by that time, the . . . damage had already been done. I believed you didn't want me. So," she went on, taking a sharp breath and clutching again at her throat, "I decided to help you anyway." She laughed with a sad sort of edge. "And . . . I learned about some ritual magic. And Runic wards. And, and Dark Magic, Harry."

He lifted a brow. "Impressive."

She sighed and offered him a tiny, wary smile. "I had to help. Even if you didn't want me to."

That pushed him to his feet, made him cross the study and take her hands in his, all in about two beats of his heart. "I've always wanted . . ." He bit off the last word.

She added a couple of her own. "My help?"

"You," he admitted on a sigh, dropping his focus to their hands.

"You've done well enough without me, Harry. Look at you. You're taller, your eyes—charmed?"

"Yeah."

"You look amazing."

He saw her blush move under her skin and felt his heart nudge again. And he was reminded of Luna, and it hurt, but he also felt a sense of reprieve. "So do you," was all he could say in return.

"The desert's been good to me."

"Clearly."

"But really, Harry. You haven't needed me. You've been training, that's obvious." He couldn't help but stand a little straighter, but then, a series of muscles twinged in his back and he grimaced. "Damn! Sorry!" she exclaimed in much her old way, even sounding a bit more English there for a moment. "You need that shower. And do you have a Healer? Have you seen them since . . .?"

"I promised you a shower, too." He blew out a breath and studied her face. "Hermione." Words rolled in his mind, but he tried not to let them all out, not all at once. He was exhausted, she'd had a bloody awful day as well, and there was _just too much_.

"What?" she demanded tugging at his hands lightly when he didn't speak for a minute.

"I feel like we need a debrief, you and I." At her short chuckle he tilted his head a little. "And everyone needs to know you're here. The Weasleys know, of course but I need to tell Sirius and Remus and everyone. And you'll need to get re-established at Gringotts. Cor, I don't know about your vault or anything. You're welcome to stay here, with me and Sirius, of course. I mean—"

He paused when she shook her head. "I have to go back. To Arizona. It's where I've been living, and I've . . . friends, there."

The words hit him in his stomach like a block of ice. Of course she'd made a life for herself somewhere. His Hermione would always rise to the occasion, making her own way and doing brilliantly. And he'd missed it. He'd missed so much. And _friends_? What _kind_ of friends? He desperately wanted, needed, to ask but he didn't think he had the right just yet. "Right. Of course. But first," he said, drawing in a deep breath and smelling his own noxious odors from the day as well as all the new scents that made up Hermione, "that shower."

"Thank you, Harry."

* * *

Sirius Black entered his home expecting to see his son waiting for him in the study. Battles—they'd had them, over the years, as Death Eaters made sport of Muggles, Muggle-born, or sought to capture Harry himself—left Harry in an odd mood, by and large. Anger when there had been deaths. Guilt, of course. But also, the young man seemed to be hyper-alert at home, promising himself that he'd do better, next time. That he was preparing to end Riddle forever. And then, they'd have their revenge on Dumbledore.

So when Sirius exited the Floo, he was prepared to be supportive. Encouraging. He was prepared for a quiet house, perhaps with Remus there for backup. He was not prepared for what he found.

Nor for whom.

The study was empty, but he could hear Harry's voice carrying down from the upper floor. "I've got a spare shirt, if you want it. Or would you rather have a robe?"

Alert, confused, but also a bit amused, Sirius stepped to the foot of the stairs to see if he could find out whom Harry was shouting at.

"A shirt is fine, thank you. And perhaps a pair of trousers I can transfigure? Would that be all right?"

Sirius snorted, hearing a female voice. Harry had brought a girl home? The accent wasn't entirely English, but neither was it American. Nor any European flavor.

At first, the Marauder felt his chest puff up with pride. There was his son, who'd fought and mourned, but who still found enough of himself to bring home a guest. And then, Sirius stilled, all humor fleeing. Whom had Harry brought home? Let inside the wards? Could they be trusted?

"Sure. Wool okay? I've got old uniform trousers that should fit."

"Awesome."

"All right. Do I need to close my eyes?"

Wand out, because he would never apologize for being paranoid when it came to Harry's safety, Sirius took the steps two at a time.

"I'm mostly decent if you squint," the unknown female declared, her voice clearly indicating patient humor.

Sirius tucked his wand away—she sounded amused and that couldn't be too bad, right?—but still stood at the ready, seeing his son dart across the hall from his suite to a guest room opposite. Harry had a bundle of clothing under one arm. He'd just come from the shower, it was clear to see, as his hair hang damply over his shoulders, and he was only wearing a pair of trousers himself.

Was he trying to impress his guest with his bare chest? Today of all days? Sirius flipped his wrist to get his wand in hand again.

"Oh, Dad! You will never, ever guess what else happened today." Harry seemed to fly down the hall, his feet barely touching the floor. Eyes bright, a smile practically splitting his face. "And you'll never guess, not in a million years, who's here." And, just as quickly as the smile had appeared, it vanished and the expected—familiar—post-battle angst narrowed the young man's eyes. "And why. Bloody hell." Dropping his gaze, he must have seen Sirius's wand because he shook his head. "You won't need that, Dad. Put it away. I'm serious."

"No, _he's_ Sirius," the woman's voice called, a bit muffled through the open door of the guest room. "Even I remember that much."

"Harry?"

His son put his hands on Sirius's shoulders and looked him squarely in the eye. "Bill—Bill was successful with the Horcrux."

"Harry James!" Sirius hissed, batting one of his son's hands away in preparation to Obliviate their guest.

Harry only offered him a half-smile. "Not a secret from her. She came back with Bill. Brought him home, Dad. He, he didn't make it." Harry rubbed at his scar and turned to the open guest room door. "It's destroyed, though, and apparently she did it. Come on out," he called with a bit more volume, keeping one hand on Sirius's shoulder.

Wearing a black t-shirt with a grayed-out image from The Who Tour—which he'd dragged Harry to in Glasgow in the autumn of 2000—and a pair of cuffed black trousers was a young woman who looked familiar. "Hello, Sirius Black. I can't tell you how I felt to find out you weren't dead as my parents had told me you were."

Sirius dropped his wand and it clattered to the polished oak floor. "Hermione?" He grabbed at Harry's hand. "That's Hermione?"

"It is, Dad. I didn't believe it at first, but it is."

"The rumors of my death—" Hermione began, stepping closer, but slowly, as she seemed not to want to spook Sirius.

"—Have been greatly exaggerated," Sirius said, finishing the quotation. "I don't even know what to say," he admitted after a few moments staring at her. "I want to hear everything but first thing," he went on, turning a bit to focus on his son. "How are _you_? All right?"

"Torn, but all right, yeah. Tonight, I'm _here_. Tomorrow, I'll focus . . . out there, you know?"

Understanding that Harry was going to just enjoy seeing Hermione Granger in the flesh for the moment, Sirius nodded. "All right. But do we know why we thought she was dead?"

"Other than the fact that Dumbledore said she was?"

Hermione drew a bit nearer. "Bill Weasley gave his opinion that Dumbledore may have set up a mail ward to keep all my letters from getting to Harry."

"Another reason," Harry said, his tone clipped.

"Reason for what?"

"That's . . . a long story," Sirius temporized, meeting Hermione's inquisitive gaze. He pursed his lips. It was indeed a long story. "Before we tell it, let me ask if you've fed your guest, son?"

"Er, no. Haven't got that far." Harry held out his hand and Sirius didn't know if he should be pleased or concerned when Hermione took it as if they'd held hands and walked down stairs together their entire lives. Obviously, he'd missed the reunion moment and they'd had a lot to say to one another already, but he was still a bit wary.

"Shirt, son."

"Oh, right!" Seeing Harry blush helped ease some of the horror of the day. Seeing Hermione's smirk as she followed Harry with her gaze eased more of it. That their hands reunited with ease once Harry had a proper shirt on his back eased still more.

So, Sirius was able to smile a little as he followed the pair of them downstairs and turned to the smaller dining room, where he, Harry, and Remus had traditionally taken their meals before Remus moved in with Nymphadora Tonks.

Harry pulled out a chair for Hermione whilst Sirius summoned Dobby.

Hermione fumed a bit. "House-elves, Harry?"

"I is a free elf!" Dobby declared, long ears erect and alert, eyes wide and happy.

"I pay him," Harry murmured. "Dobby, dinner, please?"

"Yes, sir, Harry Potter, sir!"

Hermione blew out a breath and made a clear effort to focus. "So, long story short, perhaps?"

Harry bit his lip and met Sirius's eye. Sirius nodded. "It's your secret to tell, son."

"I have no secrets from Hermione."

The young woman blushed, frowned, but didn't drop her focus from Harry's face. "Thank you. So . . . ?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Dumbledore killed my mum."

 **. . . .**

Hours later, exhausted, Sirius took a bottle of Ogden's finest to his own suite of rooms and drew himself a bath. He'd left Harry and Hermione sitting in front of the fireplace in the study, "debriefing" as Harry said.

He wondered if Hermione would still be there in the morning. And if so, where she would have spent the night.

* * *

 ** _29 July 2002, Little Hangleton_**

 _By Salazar's first serpent, what's he doing here?_ Severus Snape—wishing for the thousand and first time that he'd nicked that damnable cloak from Potter when he'd had the chance, years ago—fumed as he used as many charms as he knew to remain undetected.

Staying invisible when tracking a wizard such as Albus Poncey Wanking Bloody Dumbledore required a ridiculous level of concentration and it was exhausting. He kept a phial of Pepper-Up with him, as Dumbledore had far too much energy for a man of his advanced years.

They were just outside of the village of Little Hangleton that early morning. It was not a place he would have expected Dumbledore to visit, but Severus had learnt the painful lesson of never assuming anything about Albus Dumbledore. He wasn't visiting anyone, as far as Severus could see. Instead, the former Headmaster was skulking about a dilapidated cottage, casting with subtle movements of his wand. The cottage did not change in appearance, remaining covered in overgrown vines, with a broken window and missing shingles as well. What was the draw?

Severus dared not go too close, for as Dumbledore did, he seemed to spark a ward of some sort. Still, the older wizard cast silently, affecting an entrance somehow, around the corner where Severus couldn't see. Once Dumbledore was inside the ancient structure, Severus dared to creep a bit closer, but not too close. He wondered if he'd hear a conversation, if the old man was meeting someone.

"Oh, Tom," he heard at length.

"Bollocks!" Severus whispered, a chill sweeping over his body that had nothing to do with the faint mist in the morning air. Dumbledore was meeting the Dark Lord? Did this tie in to Lily's death?

Though he dared to move closer to the cottage, Severus was unable to hear the Dark Lord's voice. So, perhaps Dumbledore had been talking to himself. Or vocalizing some errant thought. Severus dared to relax a bit but he still renewed his concealment charms. He hadn't lived so long as a double-agent by making foolish mistakes.

At length, Severus saw movement within the cottage, so he hurried back to the tree line, where the shadows gave him cover. Dumbledore emerged, appearing quite satisfied but also quite concerned. _What is it, Old Man?_ Severus wondered. _What did you do, here?_

After re-establishing some of the wards—if indeed he could do so, and for whose benefit, Severus wanted to know—Dumbledore did something Severus would never understand. He etched runes into the front door of the cottage. Runes that even a Muggle could see, perhaps, even if they didn't know what they meant.

Then, the old wizard strode quickly into the shade, not far from Severus himself, so that Severus held his breath and hoped his heartbeat wasn't detectable, drew his wand, and Disapparated away.

Once he was sure Dumbledore was truly gone, having cast about for concealment charms that were not his own, Severus muttered a quick _, "Finite Incantatem_ " to abolish all his own concealments. "I should report this to Minerva immediately. And she'll want to tell Alastor. Perhaps, then, I should also send an owl to Potter."

He refused to send his Patronus to anyone for any reason. Even the sight of the doe filled him with fury as he recollected the shocking murder he had witnessed in Potter's memory.

* * *

 _A/N: Yeah . . . Sirius is a little optimistic, here, but he IS Sirius Black! I plan on posting the next chapter on Tuesday . . . so . . . Happy Independence Day to all my readers in the States!_


	14. Cicatrix

_**A/N:** And we're back! Big thanks to **happiness8000** , who caught review #400. Thanks so much to everyone who is reading! Glad y'all liked Sirius. More of him here._

 _ **A note about the passage of time** (since I had this problem in a book I wrote that was presented to a critique group over a period of months): Chapter Eight included the date of 27 July - the day that Hermione found about her apparent "death". This was posted (my time) on 15 June and it's now 5 July. So even though it seems like a LONG time, maybe, **less that 48 hours have passed** for our characters since the events of 27  & 28 July 2002._

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen**

 _ **29 July 2002, Farecliffe Hall**_

Hermione didn't open her eyes immediately upon waking up. She was on a carpet of some sort, it was much, much cooler than the desert, and she was appreciating the different sensations.

"Hermione."

Snapping her eyes open, she saw Harry's head, silhouetted due to light coming from the northern window. His hair fell forward, but it didn't hide his eyes. His gaze was alert but soft with wonder.

"Good morning," she whispered, covering her mouth and wishing for her bag with her potions and herbs.

"Good morning." Guilt flickered in his eyes. "I'm sorry I asked you to stay last night. This couldn't have been comfortable for you."

She shifted a bit, remembering how they had come to be where they were.

 _The conversation with Sirius—catching up on years of separation, fury at Dumbledore, and even minutiae such as the length of Harry's hair and why Hermione clutched at her throat so often—had moved to the study. Sirius went to bed after midnight but Harry and Hermione stayed, seated on the floor, not quite touching but wanting to be close enough to touch by mutual, silent agreement._

" _So, who's Adam?" he ventured to say._

 _She reminded herself that she was an adult, an independent woman, and had done nothing wrong . . . even if she felt a bit off now that she understood that Harry had been lied to about her. What would have been different if he'd known she was alive? She didn't speculate; it would only cause more hurt feelings, she believed. "Adam Quanah. One of the teachers in the Montezuma Coven. He was my mentor and he's a dear friend of mine." All of which was true._

 _Harry had drawn his knees up to his chest, bare toes digging into the area rug upon which they sat. "A . . . close friend?" He hadn't been able to meet her gaze, but then she'd been focusing on his toes. "I mean, I get it, Hermione. I do. It's not as if—"_

" _Right." She sat cross-legged and rubbed her hands over her knees through the borrowed trousers. "You had company, too. Which is all right, Harry. I mean, I was dead. I'm going to hex Dumbledore into the next decade when I see him."_

" _Not alone," Harry had said on a growl. Then, he peered into her face. "Are you all right, though? We've talked about everything but today."_

" _Bloody awful day," she'd said, echoing the only descriptor they'd used._

" _Yeah. Thank you for bringing Bill home."_

 _Just hearing him say that, softly in the peace of a study with a cozy fire and all, made something crack in Hermione's chest. "Oh, Harry. He's dead!" Tears sprang up, her chest heaved, and all she could do was weep._

 _Harry scooted closer to her, their legs becoming entangled as they faced one another with arms around each other's shoulders. "So many, 'Mione."_

 _They cried, harsh, ugly sounds. Harry's body had shaken. Her breath caught and choked. At length, the tears eased and he conjured handkerchiefs for them at the same moment that she conjured a wet flannel. They cleaned up and Harry collapsed to his back on the rug._

" _I'm so tired," he'd said, his voice raspy._

" _Your day's been longer than mine."_

" _Stay with me?"_

" _All right. For tonight."_

 _He Summoned pillows and the two of them fell asleep to the comforting sounds of the fire. Hermione was reminded of times like this back in the Gryffindor common room, long ago, and she'd fallen asleep with a smile._

She shrugged a bit now, as Harry moved away, and pushed herself into a sitting position. "Not so bad," she allowed. "I would like to see the Weasleys before I go back, though."

"Back. Right. Damn. I wanted to ask you—" He broke off to push up and onto the balls of his feet before standing fully to tower over her. She rose as well, ignoring the hand he offered. "I wanted to ask if you'd come to the funerals with me."

"Funerals?" She frowned, rather put off by his request. "Isn't it a bit early?"

His face displayed shadows of past agonies. "Sorry. It's just, it's happened before, and—sick as it is—there's an order to things, you know? And I've been awake for a while."

Hermione tried to smooth her wild morning-hair as she thought. "Harry," she said after a minute, "I probably shouldn't. It's not that I don't care—I do." She closed her eyes, bringing to mind the names Harry had shared the night before. Opening them, she recited, "Terry, Michael, Alicia, Dean, and Luna." She watched him carefully and nodded when he shut his eyes at the final name in the dreadful list. "I want to pay my respects to Neville, as well. But, if I'm there, and everyone's thought I was dead, damn Dumbledore, then I might be a distraction and that's the very last thing in the world I'd want to do."

His brows—heavier now than they had been so many years go—furrowed as he pinched his nose. "Right. Of course not. But," he dropped his hand and met her gaze. "Hermione. I need you."

She felt that horrible feeling again, the Dark one. The one that seemed to come from him. Grimacing, she shook her head. "You don't, though. You've managed wonderfully for years. I'm so pleased that you've had Sirius." When he looked as if he'd argue, she held up a hand. "I need to check something. Remember how I asked about a dark artifact?"

He cocked his head but smiled a bit sarcastically. "I remember. There she is, the girl I thought dead, and she's asking me if I've got a Horcrux tucked in a pocket."

"May I check?" she inquired, wishing again for her crystal.

"Hermione!" He pulled his pockets inside out and pushed back his sleeves. "Look! I've got nothing. I'm wearing what I wore straight out of the shower last night," he added with a curl to his voice that made her blush as well as irritating her.

"Please?"

He sighed and ran his knuckles along his jaw. "Fine. How?"

At that, she smirked. "Hold still. _Expecto Patronum_!" Her bear emerged from the tip of her wand, coming to stand tall in the Farecliffe Hall study. "Now, I'm not sure she'll be able to do this, without my crystal," Hermione mused, pursing her lips.

"She's beautiful," Harry murmured, moving to stand behind Hermione. "What's her name?"

"I didn't name her. Now," she went on, directing her words to the silvery bear, "find the Dark Magic."

"What?" Harry shifted and she felt him stepping away from her.

She turned to track her bear. "Watch," she whispered as the Patronus nosed about the room, swinging her head toward Harry again and again before coming to stand next to him, pointing her snout at his head. Hermione was torn between pride in her bear and horror that Harry did indeed have Dark Magic confined in his head. "Oh, Harry."

Harry, though, seemed almost buoyant. "What is she doing? This is kind of amazing, 'Mione." Then, it seemed as if the bear nudged him, though Hermione knew he wouldn't feel it as such, before turning back and circling Hermione herself and returning to Harry. "What's she doing? Prongs has never made as if he were hunting a fox or anything." He laughed lightly, his focus staying on her Patronus. "She's so graceful, even when she's doing this." He darted a glance to Hermione. "That's it! You should call her Grace!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but knowing she was going to be imparting ugly news to him, nodded. "Fine. Grace. Grace? Thank you. Go on, now." Harry sighed as the Patronus leapt out the window and disappeared. Hermione watched and sighed before biting her lips for a moment. "She, Grace, was able to do that after a ritual. It was a ritual to strengthen my magical center, and when I'd done it, my Patronus was able to find and point me to dark artifacts. She's the one who found the snake in Arizona. She found another dark artifact, too, in Julia's house. And Harry, it looks like she found one within you."

He paled and immediately rubbed at his forehead. "My scar?"

"No, I don't think so. Your scar, I think that's a rune. You, you told me about . . . what happened," she said, trying to be delicate. He nodded, eyes narrowing as he stared at her face. "You said Voldemort touched your head. And then your mum did something that you couldn't really identify before, before she was . . ."

"Yeah. What are you saying? That she left something _dark_ in me? No way. No bloody way, Hermione."

"No! Of course not! _He_ did! But, but I think she placed a rune of protection on you. Sowlio. It's Light against the Dark. Protection from evil. Strength and honor." Harry's expression opened up in shock. "She was trying to protect you, right?" At his nod, she pressed her lips together before continuing. "They've always said you're the Boy Who Lived."

"I've hated that," he muttered.

She reached up and feathered her fingers through his hair. "I know. But no one aimed the Killing Curse at you, Harry. It must have been Dumbledore that spread that one." She hoped her eyes conveyed her anger and protectiveness. "That's another reason."

"I want to end him and revive him just to end him again," Harry admitted, shaking his head before pacing to the hearth and back. "But wait, if Mum did that, why is the Dark Magic still in my head?"

"The rune, Sowlio, acts as protection and containment. To protect others from the Dark Magic being released. You said she did what she did after Voldemort touched you. He was probably planning on doing something with you."

"Make me a Horcrux? Hermione?" Clearly stricken, Harry moved to collapse in one of the chairs. "Is that why I can sense other parts of him? My scar started bleeding when we found the Tiara."

She knelt in front of him, taking his hands in hers until he met her gaze. "I think that was the rune in action. Keeping the darkness contained. I'm sure she never meant to do anything other than protect you. She just didn't know what he had done before she destroyed him."

His eyes burned as they stared into hers and she did her best to be steadfast and supportive. All she'd ever wanted was to help him. Keep him safe. Give him the best information she could so he could fight what he had to. But just then, she felt as if she'd wounded him and she didn't know what else to say.

He was so brave. After a minute or so, Harry squeezed her hands and nodded. "All right. So. You know about the Horcruxes."

"Right."

"I don't know how many there are. There was the one you and Bill found."

"Yes."

He nodded. "And Bill—" Shutting his eyes, he inhaled sharply through his nose but didn't release her hands. She was oddly content to stay right where she was. "Bill helped us with two more, as well. Hufflepuff's Cup and Ravenclaw's Tiara."

"Diadem. She was missing that," Hermione couldn't help but say.

His smile was crooked as he nodded. "Diadem. And the Diary, from second year."

"How many are there?"

"No idea. More than the four we've handled." When she darted a look at his forehead, he nodded. "Five, that. Yeah. Damn."

"I'm so sorry."

He leaned forward as she did and their foreheads met in a quiet space. Her heart pounded. His breath went all fast and shallow. "I've missed you so much," he whispered. "So much, Hermione."

"I've missed you as well. Even more, really, once I found out what happened with all the lies."

"Yeah." His sigh brushed her cheek and she brushed her nose against his. "If I could have anything I wanted . . ."

His voice was hesitant, quiet and his fingers trembled as they held hers. "What?" she prompted.

"I'd want at least a month. A month of peace and quiet, you know? Where you and I could just go and get sorted." She gasped and he moved his head back a bit to look her in the eye. "Hermione. Do you think we could? Get sorted?"

Her heart raced but it hurt, too. She hesitated to answer, for this seemed almost too good to be true. His expression crumpled in obvious distress at her silence so she moved in again, just to touch his cheek with her own. "I don't know, but I like the sound of it."

He relaxed physically, almost collapsing against her shoulder. "All right, then. That's something." His nod was _felt_ instead of _seen_ and she dropped her head to his shoulder as well, just taking a moment to breathe in the scent of him. Soap and magic and man. "Sure you won't come to Luna's funeral?"

She let go of one of his hands and moved so that she was sitting on the floor on her bum. "I'd be a distraction. I told you that. It wouldn't be fair."

"You could come glamoured," he suggested.

"And be another one of your women for the day?" she snapped, irritated. "Blond hair? Blue eyes?" The pain from the comparisons she'd made over the years flared and sliced. "I'm not going to do _that_ , Harry."

"Do you know why they all looked like that?" He leaned back, letting go of her hand and rubbing his restlessly on his thighs. "I couldn't bear to be with anyone who looked like you, Hermione! Everywhere I went, for years, brown hair and brown eyes meant _you_." She could feel his gaze on her as he traced her body with a palpable focus. "I'd never ask you to do that, you know. Blond and blue isn't you."

"But you liked the look, you must have," she countered.

"They were pretty. They were distracting. They weren't _you_." She opened her mouth but he held up his hand to stop her. "Look. You can come with Sirius."

She snorted. "One of his girls? No thank you."

"What? I'm a great date!" Sirius sauntered into the study, a smile on his face that didn't quite reach the slate-gray eyes. "Ask anyone."

" _Witch Weekly_ would concur," Hermione allowed, relaxing a bit. She tried to smile. "Good morning, Sirius."

"Morning." He angled a look at Harry. "Everything all right?" He glanced at Hermione then back to Harry again in what Hermione judged to be a questioning manner.

Harry's cheeks reddened a bit. "Well, we stayed in here, Dad, actually."

Hermione finally determined what the silent inquiry was about and she blushed as well. "It was like being in Gryffindor's common room," she inserted quickly, endeavoring to ease Sirius Black's concerns—if he had any. "Nothing more."

Harry nodded and met her eye with a soft smile that she returned. For a moment it was the two of them covering their tracks again, as they had long years ago, in the face of adult authority. But now, she reflected again with a quiet sigh, they were adults as well.

"I imagine we're trying to figure out what to do next," she said after a moment.

The older man rocked back on booted heels. He was attired all in black, unsurprisingly, save for a deep red waistcoat. His long hair was loose over his shoulders, and he tossed it dramatically as he asked, "And that includes Harry setting me up with you?"

"No!" Harry declared vehemently. "She's got to go back to the States, Dad. I was trying to persuade her to, to . . ." His voice fell and Sirius immediately crossed the room to wrap an arm around his shoulders. The show of support warmed Hermione's heart considerably. "To come with me to Luna's funeral," Harry murmured.

Hermione drew nearer to the men, but not so near that she intruded. Harry had a father again, it appeared, and she was glad for it. He didn't need her . . . as much as he had, before. She didn't begrudge him the family he'd wanted and needed forever. But she rather missed not being needed in that way.

Acknowledging that confused her so that she turned abruptly from the men and stared into the embers from last night's fire. She objected to being "needed", but wanted him to need her as that kind of huge part in his life? What kind of hypocrisy was she spouting in her own head? _He wants to sort us out_ , she reminded herself. _What will that mean?_

"If you aren't wanting to be at the funeral," Sirius Black said, "we understand. Though I am a great date," he added with a twinkle in his eye. "You're welcome to wait here. I'm sure Harry would appreciate the support."

Harry nodded in a jerky manner, clapping one hand on Sirius's shoulder. "I would. And, and, well . . . " He seemed to twitch a little before stepping around Sirius to take her hand in one of his. "Don't get mad, but I could really use your help."

In the light of what she had just been thinking, Hermione smiled. He still needed her. She wasn't sure she liked that, entirely, but she hadn't failed him and it seemed obvious that it wasn't just her mind that he wanted. He kept seeking to be close to her. Touching her. Nothing overt, but proximity was important.

She wasn't ready for more. Neither, she thought, was he.

"What can I do? I've been studying Dark Magic for years to help you, you know."

"You can feel it?" Harry asked, brow furrowed. "Whatever it is in my head?"

"Wait. What the bloody _fucking_ hell?" Sirius demanded, striding to come between them, pushing them apart with two hard hands.

* * *

He only had one glass of the Ogden's. Only one. Not the time to get pissed, Sirius knew. His eyes were hot with unshed tears, though, as he applied himself to a belated breakfast.

Bad enough that his son had been called the Boy Who Lived all his life erroneously. Bad enough that he'd lost his father to the dark bastard. Bad enough that he'd been persecuted at school and in the papers about everything from his nightmares to his love life. Bad enough that Albus Bleeding Dumbledore had killed his mum— _Merlin, Lily_ —in front of him. Bad enough that he'd been fighting battles for years and giving his own blood to find the hidden pieces of the Dark Wanker.

To find out that Harry had a piece of _him_ stuck in his head? And that it had been likely trying to get out but had been prevented by the rune? That that wasn't a scar like everyone thought? But a mislaid protection of some sort?

Sirius swore under his breath and wiped at his eye with the back of one hand before he lifted a forkful of beans to his mouth.

Hermione Granger—no, Dagworth, her name was now _Dagworth_ , thanks to her bloody parents—seemed to be almost dispassionate as she'd asked Harry what other possible things a Horcrux might be secreted within. "There's been a live snake and, of course," she had said with a frown, "well, you. But do you think he made a habit of hiding bits of himself in living beings?" she'd asked earlier, staring hard at Harry's forehead.

Sirius coughed on his beans and reached for his tea. A good strong cup of his own blend.

Harry's voice carried to the breakfast table from the staircase. "So what we need to do is make a schedule, is what you're saying." His laugh was light, and Sirius was glad of it. "Good. I need that."

"I want to see the Weasleys today. And I'd like to call Arizona. And if I can help you with your other obligations in any way that won't be a distraction from the sacrifice they all made, I'm here for you, Harry."

"Thanks, 'Mione."

The pair reached the breakfast room and greeted Sirius, who nodded and wordlessly indicated the sideboard where the house-elves had laid out breakfast.

"I didn't bring my cell phone with me," Hermione said, dishing up eggs and tomatoes.

"I have my mobile," Sirius told her. "You can use that, if that'll work?"

"I'll pay you for the minutes, or what-have-you."

"And then what?" Sirius asked, brushing her offer off with a shake of his head. "Shall we get Dobby to set up your room for a longer stay? I'm sure you're welcome." He smiled and nodded, because he knew he'd probably come across like some mad psychopath not long ago in the study. "And have you discussed how to break the news?" he wondered. "The _Daily Prophet_ should be told _your_ way or they'll tell it _theirs_."

Hermione poured herself some coffee and brought it to the table. Harry held her chair out for her and Sirius smiled at him, grinning broadly when his son's cheeks went pink. Hermione stirred in milk and a spoonful of sugar while regarding Sirius thoughtfully. "I haven't had time to think about that much," she mused, "though Bill Weasley did mention something to that effect." She offered him an apologetic smile. "We should do an interview, then?"

"I think so," Sirius replied. "Give Skeeter—or someone—an exclusive as soon as possible and we can probably dictate the questions."

Harry sat at Hermione's right. "I like that idea. She'll be covering the . . . memorials . . . as she has in the past, so timing will be a thing." He caught Hermione's gaze. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Harry, honestly, if you and I apologize for everything, we'll be doing nothing _but_ apologizing and I bet that's not what you were referring to about getting sorted."

Sirius coughed to remind the two that he was there and both the younger people blushed. If the circumstances hadn't been so dire, it might have been fun to continue to tease them. Instead, he decided to be kind. For him, anyway. "I'll get in touch with Skeeter at the _Prophet_ , then. You mentioned wanting to see the Weasleys. I'd like to join you, as I—" He broke off with a sigh and pushed the remainder of his beans around on his plate. "I hired Bill to begin with. Also, we need to talk to Remus. He'll want to know." Hermione nodded. "That's enough to go on with, I think. Right? Eat, kids. I'll get you my mobile, Hermione, and if you get it out of the Hall, you can likely get it to work beyond the wards."

"Thank you, Sirius."

Hermione finished her breakfast quickly and excused herself to get ready for the day. "I'll need to do something about clothes," she'd muttered as Dobby appeared to take her plate.

Once she was gone, though, Sirius leaned back in his chair and stared at his son. "What did she mean by getting sorted?"

Harry fidgeted before pushing back from the table to rise and pace the length of the breakfast room. "Just something I said, Dad. There's so much there, you know?"

"She's right, though," Sirius advised. "I have no idea what she might feel the need to apologize for, but I have some idea about you. You need to try not to feel guilty, Prongslet." He crossed the room to his son and tugged affectionately at Harry's hair. "Give it time. The two of you were friends a long time, right?"

Harry snorted to hear his oldest nickname. "Yeah."

"Start from there."

"I'm trying, _Dad_ foot, I really am."

Sirius snorted in his turn. "Good."

* * *

 _ **A/N** : Not sure where **Prongslet** first surfaced in the fandom, nor **Dadfoot** , but the latter was presented in a review from the inimitable **ShayaLonnie** and I had to use it *image of LJ scurrying through this chapter, looking for a good insertion point*. :) Posting on Friday - check the tumblr (summerisbittersweet dot tumblr dot com) for a sneak peek if you're into that sort of thing!_

 _Naming the Patronus "Grace" is credited to **Katmom,** who has had the dubious privilege of reading this raw and reminding me about random uses of the letter "s". :)_

 _ **P.S**. In case you were wondering, no, Harry and Hermione didn't "do the deed". They slept on the floor in front of the fire, just utterly wiped out. Sirius might have been disappointed. _


	15. Intrusor

_**A/N:** Thank you for adding this fic to your lists! And a big thanks to all who are indeed reading and reviewing. :) Eternal gratitude to **Katmom** , who told me I should remind folks that this is an AU, and therefore not necessarily compliant with plot points or devices in, well, any of the books. So if you're asking, "But, what about (fill in the blank)?" My answer is "This is an Alternate Universe. It may or may not be here."_

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen**

 _ **Hogwarts, 29 July 2002**_

"Minerva."

Hearing Severus's voice through her Floo brought Minerva McGonagall away from the tea she was drinking to kneel slowly on the cushion she kept in front of the fireplace. "Severus? Did you wish to come through, lad?"

"Yes. And don't call me a lad."

"Well, come on, then." Pushing herself up to her feet once more, she waved her hand and wandlessly arranged guest chairs and Summoned a new cup for Severus's tea. _Lad, hmph_. He had been a student of hers and he would always be a lad to some degree, even if she had reined the tendency to call him one for many years. When the man himself strode into her office she did not presume to banish the ashes on his signature black frock coat. He never had liked being coddled. "Tea?" she asked instead.

"Thank you." With a bare economy of movement, he crossed the room to fold himself into one of her chairs. He didn't take his cup, but steepled his hands before his nose. "I saw Albus, Minerva. He went to a cottage in Little Hangleton and appeared to be talking to Riddle." His expression hardened. "I detected no sign of Riddle, so I surmise that Albus wasn't conversing with him in body. He left the cottage with a satisfied look on his face. I don't know what he accomplished there, but it must have been significant."

Minerva felt her flesh crawl. "You think he might have been communicating with Riddle?" she asked, unable to truly believe it. "He's fought against him, _we've_ fought against him . . ." Her words sputtered into silence. "What should we do? I can try, perhaps, to contact him."

"I'll continue to follow him. I'm not sure who lived in that cottage; perhaps there's a registry of prior owners for property in the area."

"I'll check with the Ministry. Alastor might know."

Snape snorted and, at last, bent over to pour himself a cup of tea. His shoulders relaxed visibly as he did so and Minerva nodded to herself. She was glad he'd been able to tell her what he'd learnt, minimal as it was. "By all means, tell him," the younger man drawled. "And tell Black as well. He's so very inner circle, here." His tone was dripping with derision.

Minerva ignored the tone and answered the words. "I'll do so. He might have a better idea about what Albus is trying to do."

"Hunt Potter," Severus said on a sneer. He took a silent sip of tea. "Darjeeling?"

"Quite. So. Do you wish to be here when I contact Sirius?"

Severus lifted one brow. "Hardly. Let me finish this," he said, doing so in one long drink, "and return to my potions. I'm brewing for the werewolf." He shook his head. "It pays well."

Minerva held in a smile. "Indeed. Thank you."

* * *

 _ **The Burrow, 29 July 2002**_

"Sure, Harry! Come on through," Ron shouted through the fireplace.

"Bringing company?" one of the twins called out, his voice faint in comparison to Ron's.

Harry glanced up at his dad and Hermione, who nodded simultaneously. "I am. Make way!"

"Wicked!"

Hermione grinned at the twins' approbation before taking Harry's arm and stepping into the flames. Her smile faded as she leaned heavily on him to prevent tripping once they emerged from the Floo at The Burrow, however. Despite the smiles of greeting from Ron, George, and Fred, and despite the nods of welcome from their parents, the atmosphere was still altogether somber. Of course.

At least until it registered that Harry had brought _her_. "It's a bit of a prank that we didn't tell the others," Fred whispered over her head as he, Ron, and George made way for their other siblings to see the "company".

Harry spelled Floo ashes off the transfigured trousers she was again wearing, as well as from the white dress shirt she'd also borrowed from him. Sirius had sacrificed a pair of black leather boots, resizing them and transfiguring them to be quite feminine. Hermione herself had managed her hair so that it fell again down her back in thick curls. She had done her best to look serious, smart, and sensitive.

Molly wept upon seeing her again. "Oh, Hermione! I want to know everything that happened. Everything he said!"

Hermione exchanged a quick, full look with Harry before moving to take Molly Weasley by the hand and lead her to one of the sofas in the room. "I'll be happy to tell you everything I can," she said softly.

"Thank you, dear, but first, tea." At Hermione's nod—she understood the older woman's need to be busy—Mrs. Weasley bustled off to the kitchen, leaving Hermione on the sofa to watch the changing dynamic of the Weasley family.

Ginny all but fell over herself, dropping on the floor next to Hermione's feet and staring up at her. "Hermione? Really?"

"Wait, what?" Charlie asked, shifting from his chair to stare. "Hermione? Wait. You're dead!"

"Apparently not." Percy was standing near the window, where the sharp light of the afternoon lent him a steady aura. He pursed his lips to make a small _O_ and then frowned. His eyes were red-rimmed as he approached her. "Dumbledore knew?"

Hermione grimaced. "Yes."

Ginny's eyes almost sparked with instantaneous anger. "That, that horrible git! That bastard! How could he do that to you? To _Harry_?"

The room erupted into a tirade against Albus Dumbledore as Mrs. Weasley returned with tea things.

* * *

Ron was watching the pair with a wary amusement as he absently ate a bit of shortbread. Harry and Hermione. When they'd become friends, almost eleven years ago, he'd thought Hermione was an annoying know-it-all. She took a pretty turn, though, and sure enough, Harry saw it first. When they got together, Ron never truly minded. It wasn't so much that Harry was with Hermione, but that Ron wasn't with anyone.

He smiled a bit at the girl sitting next to him that afternoon. He had someone now.

Squeezing Gemma's hand, he continued studying Harry and Hermione. Though they'd all been grieving deeply over Bill, there had still been a sort of amazement buzzing in the Burrow since the day before.

Hermione wasn't dead. Seeing her had—despite the horrors of the day before—given him hope. Hope in the face of Horcruxes, despite the threat of Voldemort, and rising above grief.

Her voice shook him out of his thoughts. "So, how'd you two meet, Ron?"

Gemma giggled. "He kept me from falling over my own feet at the shop," she admitted, glancing into Ron's eyes with admiration and appreciation. The girl made him feel brilliant and talented, like he'd wanted to feel all his life.

"Yeah. 'Cept I used a cushioning charm. Bit of a shock, that, as she's a Muggle."

"Really not fond of that word," Gemma muttered, lifting one brown brow. Her hair was sleek and otter-brown, which he'd told her and she'd liked, as otters were her favorite animal.

"Sorry, love. So, yeah. I did. Months ago, and then I found all kinds of reasons to go to her shop on Piccadilly, and then we had tea and dinner, and—"

Hermione smiled gently at him. "And you told her you were a wizard when?"

"Pretty much the second date. I can't keep a secret." Darting a glance at Harry, he felt his skin heat. "Well, some I can, o'course, but not that kind."

"Good thing you aren't in charge of product development with the shop," Fred opined from his spot near the hearth. "We'd have to Obliviate you on the regular."

Gemma blinked. "Obfuscate? What?"

"Sometimes, when non-magical people find out about the magical people," Hermione said, in a less-pedantic, American-accented voice that made Ron shake his head to make sure he was hearing her properly, "they have to have their memories altered a bit, so that no one knows our secret." After glancing at Ron, she asked, "He told you it's a secret, right?"

Gemma rolled her eyes. "Yes, only about twenty times." Then she bit her lip and Ron felt her grip his hand more tightly. "He told me about you, when he told me about his brother, yesterday. I can't even imagine . . ."

Arthur, who had mostly sat quiet and thoughtful whilst the others were getting acquainted, reacquainted, and telling the old stories, stiffened and set his mug of tea—laced with a bit of Muggle brandy—on the low side table. "Someone's breached the wards, Molly," he said quietly. With a couple quick motions, he had the twins joining him at the door whilst Percy and Charlie stood as if to guard the room with the rest of the family and their guests. Ron stood as well, within arm's reach of Gemma, just in case he had to Apparate her out of the house. As a Weasley, he could do so without any negative reaction from the family wards.

The room went still as a Potions Class when Snape, the greasy git, was on a rampage. Ron could count the beats of his own heart and did his best not to wiggle his wand to match. It was no time for nervous habits. Harry moved to stand in front of Hermione and Ron's own mum, which made Ron wince because he hadn't thought to do so. Not that his mum needed protection; like Ginny, Mum could wield her wand to good effect.

"Arthur! Fred! George! So good to see you. I wanted to come by to offer my personal condolences."

It was Charlie who got the name of their visitor out first. "Dumbledore!"

* * *

It had been, quite literally, years since Harry had seen Albus Dumbledore. Not since the day he'd left Hogwarts early in his seventh year. He had hoped to avoid seeing the old wizard until that long-awaited day when he, Harry, would face him and avenge Lily Potter's cold-blooded murder.

Today was not that day, but Harry had his wand out even so. Who knew whom Dumbledore would take it into his head to disappear next?

"Harry, what do you want to do?" Sirius came to stand at his shoulder. "We can body bind him and take him back home to interrogate him."

He could feel the heat from Hermione's body as she drew nearer to him. "He's got a good idea, Harry," she murmured.

"How long could we keep him contained, though?" he asked them both, though his eyes were trained on the entrance to the lounge, through which Dumbledore would surely enter.

Since all of them had guessed or speculated by then that Dumbledore had either lied or failed to fully investigate Hermione's fate, leaving Harry to mourn for her, each person in the Burrow was almost visibly crackling with tension.

"I've no idea. Farecliffe doesn't have a dungeon."

Hermione choked. "That's not a bad thing. Do you think they could keep him in Azkaban?"

"Not like he needs a _trial_ ," Sirius said, his voice a menacing growl. "We could just toss him in there until we're ready to deal with him."

"It would be fair," Harry agreed.

Arthur hurried to place himself between Dumbledore and the room full of agitated, drawn wands. "Look who came to offer his condolences," the family patriarch said in a tone that clearly told Harry that Arthur Weasley wanted no trouble. Well, Arthur didn't know the half of the trouble, did he? And Harry wasn't going to tell him yet. The fewer that knew, the fewer there were that could alert the former Headmaster and make it harder for Harry to find him later if he got away.

Before the man had even spoken, Harry moved in front of Hermione, as did his dad, effectively blocking her from view.

"Hey," she muttered in obvious protest.

Harry reached behind with his free hand to keep her where she was. "Please," he whispered. "Just for a moment."

He had options, of course. Cast a Stunner and see if it worked. He'd likely be immediately backed up by his dad, of course, and perhaps even Hermione. If Ron threw his wand in, there was a chance they'd stun Dumbledore—but could they bind him securely?

He could go for something more dangerous. Not an Unforgivable, but unexpected. Blindness, Levicorpus, something.

But Dumbledore was a powerful wizard. Without a coordinated effort, it was unlikely he'd be subdued for more than a few heartbeats.

Or he could play it easy. Pretend all was well and evade?

Sirius whispered, "Follow my lead, lad."

Hermione gripped his free hand and Harry nodded. "All right. Just—I need him not to die yet," he whispered, leaning toward Sirius so that his words didn't travel.

"I can manage that."

Molly Weasley nodded with a guarded look on her face. "Albus. Kind of you to come by."

Smoothing his white beard over the subdued navy blue and gold robes he wore, Dumbledore cast a kind eye in Molly's direction. "I heard that he had passed on to the next great adventure, Molly, but I hadn't heard how. I am sure, though, that he conducted himself like a wizard of honor."

"Of course he did." Sirius stepped forward. "Albus. It has been a while."

Harry saw that Dumbledore moved his wand arm and he tensed, in case a fight were to begin too early. A collectively indrawn breath told him the whole room was thinking the same thing.

"Indeed it has, Sirius. Indeed it has. I've heard good things about your training of our Harry, however." He smiled with a shallow veneer, Harry thought, of charm. "Harry! You're looking fit."

Hermione shuddered behind him; Harry could feel the shiver in her hand. "Thank you, Mr. Dumbledore," he said slowly, uncertain of how to address the man. "I've been busy." He glanced at his father, who straightened his shoulders to an unnatural level.

"Albus! You'll never guess who I found in my estate last night."

Hermione gasped behind him, her body pressing against Harry's back. He could feel the increase in her breathing and imagined he could feel her heart pound as well.

"Crikey Moses," Ron muttered nearby.

Dumbledore continued to smile, regardless of the tangible tension in the room. "Oh? An old friend, perhaps?"

"Quite," Sirius said. With a short nod, he indicated that Harry should bring Hermione forward. "An old friend who met up with Bill Weasley whilst he was engaged in an act of supreme dedication and bravery."

Hermione slid between Harry and his father. Harry wrapped his free arm around her shoulders to keep her close to his side—and, incidentally, to keep her wand arm down. It was instinct more than anything, but he had learnt to trust them over the years.

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," she said, her voice hard and clear.

Albus Dumbledore did the unthinkable. He dropped his wand.

* * *

" _Stupefy_!" Sirius shouted.

" _Petrificus Totalis_!" Harry said almost immediately thereafter.

Hermione tried to move from Harry's side to help, but he kept her locked tight against him. "Hey! Lemme go!" she demanded, moving to aim her wand at the wizard on the floor.

"Don't hurt him," Harry said, not taking his eyes from Dumbledore and squeezing her once more against himself before releasing her. "I need him alive."

"Alive?" Ginny asked, her wand-hand shaking a bit as she kept her wand's focus on Dumbledore. "Wait. What'd he do besides lie about Hermione?"

Harry shook his head sharply and Hermione understood that no one—or hardly anyone—knew about Dumbledore's greatest crime. She blew out a breath. "Harry's just making sure my time in America didn't drive me mad," she said.

Ginny smiled a bit and dropped her wand. "Well, it could happen."

Sirius bent and picked up the wand on the floor. "What do you think, Harry? Should we keep it?"

"Couldn't hurt," Harry replied.

"Wait, no!" Molly Weasley protested. "Come now, no harm done. Hermione's home and—"

Hermione gaped at the older witch, as did Harry. "No harm? Missus Weasley," Harry began, only to be interrupted.

"Look, I'll just take him back to the Hall," Sirius said with a feral grin. "Have a talk with him."

Harry seemed about to protest, but he changed his mind. "Call in Remus?"

"Excellent!"

Hermione nudged Harry. "He's not going to do anything . . . Marauder-ish, is he?"

Harry wasn't even smiling. "No, I don't think so. We'll follow soon. You said you wanted to see the Weasleys, remember?"

Hermione darted a look about the room. "Right."

Sirius stood over Dumbledore's motionless form before dropping down and wrapping a hand around the man's throat. "I'll just take care of this. Harry, can you send a message to Remus and Tonks?"

"Sure, Dad."

But when Sirius tried to Apparate, he found he couldn't. "Cor! The wards!" George called out in audible chagrin. "Can't Apparate, mate, sorry!"

Sirius grimaced before glowering into Dumbledore's face. "Fine. I'll release you, but you're coming with me."

"Careful, Dad," Harry said, stepping forward.

Hermione stayed right at his side, wand drawn. "Please, Sirius, be careful."

The dramatic wizard all but leapt to his feet and extended his wand. " _Finite Incantatem_. Now don't do anything foolish, Albus."

"My boys!" Dumbledore said, his tone surprised. "What brought that on? Miss Granger, a pleasure to be sure. I am sorry for the misinformation, but I had my reasons, and I assure you all they were for the greater good."

Hermione felt fury ripple under her skin. "Harry . . . I can't just let him—"

"Enough!" Harry said, his ire directed at Dumbledore even as the rest of the room began their own protests. "Greater Good my arse! No. You lied to me. You lied to us all."

Dumbledore held up a hand. "Now, now. It was necessary. But see? No harm done and—"

There was a flash of something, a feeling of intense pressure, and Hermione couldn't move.

* * *

Dumbledore nodded at the crowded room and, swearing under his breath, reclaimed the Elder Wand from Sirius Black.

 _I could Obliviate them all, get Miss Granger out of the way, and . . . No. They could come to before then and that would be messy._

 _They know about her. Well. I'll have to take the responsibility for that. I should inform Minerva—no._

 _Ah, the press! Inform them, put a spin on it. Yes, I could do that. I could even spin it, as they say, for my benefit. Bring Harry back to trusting me again. That would be perfect._

 _Well, then._

Nodding with satisfaction, Albus Dumbledore left the room, walked serenely through the front door of the Burrow, and Apparated away once he was beyond the wards.

* * *

 _A/N: We're not even close to being done with Dumbledore yet. More Harry/Hermione time next chapter, which will be posting Monday. Sneak peek available Saturday on my tumblr._


	16. Denuo

_**A/N:** Many of you had all kinds of things to say about the ineptitude displayed in letting Albus Dumbledore escape in the last chapter. To that, I say this: No one was ready for him. Obviously. This will not be the case next time. A disastrous first encounter is not uncommon in any battle/war/struggle. _

_Thank you for letting me know what you're thinking! I welcome the opportunity to interact with you. And my thanks, as always, to **Katmom** , who has left all kinds of fun notes in ALL CAPS for me in the doc. She's fabulous._

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen**

 _ **The Burrow, 29 July 2002**_

Harry fought against the stillness and pressure, pushing at it as if he were trying to push a wandless shield out and around his body and Hermione's. _That utter bastard!_ Freeing himself from whatever silent, wandless spell Dumbledore had cast, Harry immediately went about the room with a general _Finite Incantatem_.

Charlie and Sirius got their bearings first. "Where'd he go?" the men demanded simultaneously.

Hermione and Ginny left the room and ran toward the front door. "Blimey!" Ginny lamented, her voice echoing throughout the house. "We missed him."

"You all right, love?" Ron asked Gemma in a quiet tone.

"Oi, not my best thing. Can we not do that again?"

"So sorry!"

Harry clapped his friend on the shoulder, tried to offer Gemma a reassuring look, and went to stand with his dad. "Did he get his wand back?"

"Yes, the utter bastard." At Harry's involuntary grin, Sirius asked, "What's so funny?"

"That was the same thing I was thinking, trying to break whatever he did to us."

"Ah. Well. Great minds, eh?" Sirius ruffled Harry's hair a bit before frowning. "Safe to say he's gone, so we need . . . "

Hermione jogged back to them, weaving through the scattered Weasleys. "So now what?"

The Weasleys gathered around at that point. Mister Weasley scrubbed at his jaw. "Right then. Can't say I'm too happy about being set down like that." His wife and children agreed and nodded before Arthur spoke again. "It's dreadful that he lied about you, Hermione. If there's anything we can do to help get you re-established, let us know."

Missus Weasley nodded. "Anything at all. And do, please, know you're invited to . . . to Bill's . . ."

Arthur took her hand in both of his. "She knows, Molly dear. She knows."

Harry glanced at Hermione, who met his eyes with a wry nod. "I'll be there, Mister Weasley, Missus Weasley. Thank you."

A small jolt of surprise hit Harry but he shrugged it off. Later. They could talk later. "We'll be there. Send an owl or a Patronus with the details."

After hugs all around and an invitation to Ron to bring Gemma over to the Hall before too long, Harry took Hermione by the hand and escorted her back home through the Floo. "We'll get you added to the wards," he told her after spelling her free of ash.

She blushed, which startled and pleased him, giving him hope. "Thank you."

They moved to make room for Sirius, who came through with a thoroughly disgruntled expression. "Next time we see that berk's stupid beard, we throw up shields, Harry."

"Right. Can't believe I didn't start there, considering."

Hermione tucked a lock of her hair behind one ear. "Can't we throw the first spell, next time? Why do you want to keep him alive, anyway? After what he did?"

Harry silently invited her to sit down, which she did, on the same chair she'd chosen the day before. Had it really only been yesterday when she'd reappeared in his life? It seemed they'd never been apart, but they had. And he had a lot to learn, still, about her. "I need him alive as insurance, Hermione."

Her brows rose as her pretty brown eyes sparkled with comprehension before they narrowed in anger. "Harry, no!" She moved to kneel on her chair, leaning over its upholstered arm. He couldn't help but notice how his shirt gaped a bit on her, but he did his best not to stare at the hints of curves that he probably wasn't supposed to be seeing. "You can't think like that."

Sirius came to stand in front of the chair, distracting him. "Insurance against what, son?"

Harry exchanged a look with Hermione, who took the conversational Quaffle. "I remember hearing, a long time ago, that Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort was afraid of."

Harry tugged on a lock of her hair that had slipped into the air between them. "Yeah. So, if, if something happened to me, Dad . . ."

"No. I'm not _even_ thinking like that, Harry James Potter-Black. No."

Harry tore his gaze from Hermione's to see that his dad had gone parchment-pale. He let the brown, curling ringlet of Hermione's hair slip through his fingers as he stood to talk to his dad. He could feel Hermione's eyes on him all the while. "Dad. The most important thing is for Voldemort to be defeated."

Hermione rose, then, and put a tanned hand on Sirius's forearm. "I'll do everything I know to keep anything from making Dumbledore necessary, Sirius. You have to know that. Incarcerating that old . . .old _git_ would be the best thing, if it can be arranged. To keep him in view. He's still all about the greater good, apparently, and Merlin only knows what he thinks that means at this point."

"And if we've got him, then we can get him to fight for the Light against Voldemort," Harry continued as if he and Hermione had planned this in advance. A warm burst of contentment moved in his chest, but he suppressed a highly inappropriate smile. "Insurance, that's all, Dad. And if we can take out the Dark Wanker without him—sorry, 'Mione," he said in an aside when she made an annoyed huff. "If we can, then we can take care of Dumbledore. Maybe even a trial. I can still pensieve my memory. So will Severus Snape."

He saw the color come back to his dad's face with some relief. "All right then," Sirius murmured. "You two work that out. And whatever else you need to do. I'm going to send an owl to Remus and Tonks and invite them for dinner. Hermione? Will you be here?"

Harry held his breath until she nodded and accepted the invitation with a smile. "I'm definitely going to need some clothes to transfigure, however."

Sirius left the study and Hermione moved to take his place in front of him, taking both of his hands in hers. Harry swallowed, hard, not wanting to do or say anything to mess things up with her. "I understand the wish for insurance, but I can't see the actual necessity of it. You have to know, Harry, that you won't be alone, there."

He nodded. "I do know it. Thank you." Taking a quick breath, he asked, "So. Does that mean that you won't be dashing back to Arizona right away? If you need anything, anything at all, you have to know I've got you covered."

She repeated his assurance with a curl of her lip. "I do know it. Thank you." They exchanged natural smiles before she said, "I spoke to Adam earlier, as you know." His gut tightened; he had seen her walk beyond the wards earlier before they went to The Burrow. "I told him what had happened and asked him to do a sweep of the Castle to remove anything that could be problematic." She flicked her tongue out over her lower lip and he tightened his grip on her hands so that he didn't tug her into his arms and lick her himself.

"And?" he prompted when she didn't say anything more.

"He said . . . he said it sounded like I wasn't going to be coming back to live with the Montezuma Coven." She bit her lip and dropped her gaze when she said so, lifting her eyes a moment later, watching him.

He hoped she wasn't disappointed by the hopeful smile that quite exploded all over his face. "Well, if you're not, perhaps you'll consider staying here? 'Til you get sorted?"

"If you're sure it won't be a bother? You mentioned, not long ago, about investigating my old vault and so on."

No, the grin wasn't going anywhere. "Not a bother at all, of course." Harry dared to run his fingertips lightly up her arms to the elbows and then back down again, taking encouragement from the glow in Hermione's cheeks before he let his hands fall so that he could indicate with a sweep of one arm that she should precede him out of the study. "Come on. You mentioned clothes. And—" There it went, the feeling of joyful expectation. He shut his eyes against the pain. "And I have to owl everyone's families to see what their arrangements are going to be."

Hermione twined her arms around one of his once they left the study. "And I should probably owl the _Prophet_. And make arrangements . . ." She grimaced and pulled a bit away from him.

"What is it, Hermione?" Worried that she was changing her mind already, Harry tugged on her hand. "I'm . . . did I do something wrong?" If Hermione had been a girl he'd met in, say, Amsterdam or Paris? He'd never ask that. But he'd grown up with Hermione and he trusted that old bond still.

Shaking her head, she stared at him. "It's just, I can feel it, Harry," she whispered. "I ignore it as much as I can but . . . it's like a dark compulsion combined with a repelling charm, you know?" With a sigh, she brushed her fingers across his forehead before stepping nearer and feathering her hand through his hair.

He felt every muscle tighten in response to her proximity. He smelled the tea she'd had at The Burrow, he felt the barest brush of her body against his and willed his instant arousal to just go away so that she wouldn't feel it just then. But he had to touch her; she spoke of a compulsion, he felt one as well. He circled her waist lightly with one arm, trying to be casual, but his heart pounded hard when he did so.

Her breath caught and their eyes met, and he knew, then, that no matter what nudges his fancy might have given him since June of 1996, Hermione had always held his heart in her hands. Even when he thought she was gone forever. "Hermione."

Her hand slid to his shoulder as she whispered his name in return. Then, she moved closer to him, tucking her head under his chin and wrapping her arms around him. "Oh, I've missed you. It hurt, every day for years, even though I tried to move on, you know?"

He nodded, wrapping her against himself with everything he had and hoping against all luck that Sirius wouldn't interrupt them. "You and me both, 'Mione."

"I know. And when I found out you thought I was dead, it—it was the strangest feeling. Good and bad and dreadful and hopeful and . . . so much."

"Yeah. I know. So now what? Are you really going to come home?"

She shuddered in his embrace. "I want to. I do."

It was as if some huge fist that had been holding him tight for two days finally let him go. "Well," he said, trying again for casual, "if Hermione Gra—er, Dagworth wants something, she'll make it happen, yeah?"

"Promise me something," she murmured against his collarbone.

He could feel the heat of her breath through his shirt and it made him want to feel it everywhere. "If I can, I will."

She leaned back, expression serious as she looked not into his eyes but at the rune-scar on his forehead. "Promise me that you'll take me with you every time you have to face that dark bastard."

His brows shot up at her harsh term, but he smiled, too. "Hermione?"

She shrugged but didn't apologize. "Whether it's a Horcrux or the man, promise me."

He waited until she was looking him in the eye again. It was his turn to study her. The golden flecks in her eyes seemed to shine, but there was such purpose in her focus, that he found himself nodding. "All right. I promise."

"Good."

Luna's final prophecy came to mind and Harry felt a chill creep over his body. " _And then at the end, with your true love you'll stand."_

Not thinking of passion or romance or even "getting sorted", he pressed a gentle kiss to Hermione's forehead. "Then we have some work to do."

She surprised him with a smile. "That's almost my favorite line!"

* * *

 _ **Evening, Farecliffe Hall**_

Remus had a Stinging Hex on the tip of his wand as he and Tonks came through the Floo at Sirius and Harry's place. He figured he'd cast at either Sirius or Harry and either way he'd get a good hit in and they'd get a reminder to be on their guard at all times. After the devastating events in Piccadilly, Remus felt the reminder couldn't hurt.

He did not, however, count on Sirius and Harry having another guest when he silently cast the jinx toward Harry. He was so focused on his former pupil and current protégée that he didn't see his companion, which was a mistake.

He realized his mistake only after coming to.

He awoke to Tonks's exasperated, "Remus!"

He was flat on his back, staring up at four people: Tonks, Sirius, Harry, and a young woman who seemed as if she should be familiar but he couldn't place her. "Hello?"

Tonks shook her head. "You went in without a shield, you furry berk, and Hermione threw a mean _Petrificus_ at you."

His head ached, but Remus sat up anyway. "Won't do that again. Wait. What?" He shook his head, wondering if getting knocked out had addled his brain. "Who? That was a powerful spell."

Harry extended his hand to help Remus to his feet. "Hermione, Remus. I'm sure you remember her?"

Remus shot a cautionary look to Sirius. _Really her?_ the look asked. Sirius nodded, so Remus smiled and rubbed ruefully at the back of his neck. Tonks, if she had been at all surprised, was covering it well and Remus decided to do likewise. "Nice one, there, Miss Granger."

"Dagworth," everyone in the room said simultaneously.

"And it's Hermione, please," Hermione added, her voice an odd mixture of the United States and London. "Good to see you, Mister Lupin."

"Remus," everyone in the room recommended.

At that, they all had a good laugh—which Remus thought to be a healthy thing. He took Hermione's hand between both his own. "It's good to see you, after all we heard. A double pleasure to have good news these days." Pursing his lips, he cocked his head at Sirius again. "Dumbledore?"

"Yeah." Sirius rocked back on his heels. "And he was at the Weasleys today, too."

"Bloody hell!" Tonks shouted.

Remus wrapped one long arm about her. "Manners, Tonks."

"Oi! Leave off, Remus. They know me well enough." She ran a hand through her bright pink hair—long, this evening—and rolled eyes that were the color of sapphires. "The inner me and all."

His head still ached a bit with Tonks's loud protests, so he winced and saw Hermione do likewise. "That was a good bit of hexing there. You've been practicing?"

"Here and there."

Harry snorted. "You should see her Patronus!"

"Come on," Sirius said, moving toward the door of the study. "Let's go in to dinner. The stories can be told there."

"Hello the house! Sirius Black, are you at home?"

As they'd all barely taken a step, the group turned as one to see Minerva McGonagall's face in the fireplace. Sirius frowned and crossed the room quickly.

"Minerva! You all right, there?"

"I am, but I've news." The fiery image of her head moved a bit as she seemed to take in the identities of all in the room. Remus knew that getting a true read on a facial expression was nigh on impossible through a Floo call. "About Albus."

"We saw him today," Sirius informed the current Headmistress of Hogwarts.

"He's been busy. May I come through?"

"I'll send Remus through to get you, Minerva. We're still on limited access, here."

"Of course."

Remus was not used to putting Minerva McGonagall under surveillance, but he did so that evening. Barely a few days after the full moon, his senses were still wicked sharp. She was nervous as she entered Farecliffe, and evidenced surprise upon seeing Hermione, as well. There was something off, though. Something in her body language as they sat down to dine that made him think and watch while she told the rest of them what Severus Snape had reported to her, earlier that very day.

"Meeting with Voldemort! That's the limit!" Harry declared, his hands in fists as he rose from the dining table. "The utter bastard!"

Sirius snorted at the term, which seemed to calm Harry down a bit. "Another reason," was all his old friend said.

Minerva sipped at a glass of wine, her focus apparently fluctuating between Harry and Hermione. What was she looking for, he wondered.

Tonks, who sat across from him, waved her hand to get his attention. "Remus?"

"Yes, dear?"

"It would be a fine time to discuss another certain room you had mentioned to me." She smiled mischievously at the table at large. "His pillow talk leaves something to be desired, though I guess I shouldn't complain."

"Tonks!" Blushing, Remus shook his head. "What are you referring to?"

"That room? At Grimmauld Place?"

The seriousness of the topic possessed his focus then and Remus shifted to study Harry and Sirius. "You know about the room off the library, Padfoot? Kreacher, your old _friend_ , got drunk last night—not sure why, though he muttered something about death and dying—and went on about all the things he had safeguarded against your possession, in the secret room off the library. He was quite proud of himself."

Tonks huffed out a breath. "Me being a Black, he showed it to me, before he fell over his own ears and got knocked unconscious. You should go there, Cousin. If there are dark objects anywhere, they'll be there."

Remus wiped at his mouth with his napkin, his appetite utterly gone. "Not sure if there is, of course, or how you'd determine if it was dark due to Riddle, but—"

Harry leaned over the back of Hermione's chair. "No worries on that score, Remus. Hermione can handle it."

In the ensuing discussion and demonstrations, Remus ceased to study Minerva, and his curiosity about her demeanor faded before the fascination with Hermione's Patronus and the horrifying realization about the Horcrux in Harry's mind.

He and Tonks staggered up to their usual guest room after Minerva Floo'd back to Hogwarts. "What a bloody, rotten mess," Tonks muttered as she stripped to her knickers to sleep.

Remus could only agree.

* * *

The morning brought the _Daily Prophet_ , with a front page entirely occupied by Harry and Hermione:

 _ **Golden Trio Reunited! Hermione Granger Lives!**_

 _an exclusive with_ _ **Rita Skeeter**_

 _as told by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

 _If you've been reading my continuing series on the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter-Black, you know how his life has certainly had its ups and downs. His mother killed in front of him when he was a baby, his godfather wrongfully imprisoned for more than a decade, and his own life threatened on multiple occasions—he survived to triumph, even so._

 _His life has had its bright points as well, for he won the Tri-Wizard Tournament, though he was younger than any other contestant. And he won the heart of Muggle-born Hermione Granger, who had been his friend since his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

 _Then, his life once again took a tragic turn in 1996, when he lost his love to a curse by Death Eater Antonin Dolohov, who is currently incarcerated in Azkaban. Granger was declared dead and Harry Potter-Black mourned, as we have reported on more than one occasion._

 _But now, I have learned from the most noteworthy of wizards that her death was a ruse, Readers! Due to the return of You Know Who, all Muggle-borns were vulnerable and Hermione Granger was known to be of particular interest. To protect her, Albus Dumbledore, then the Headmaster of Hogwarts, spirited her and her Muggle family out of the country to live in safe anonymity._ _So successful was he, in fact, that he led the entire Wizarding World to believe that Hermione Granger was no more!_

 _Dumbledore reports grieving for Harry Potter-Black, but it was done for the Greater Good, as is everything Dumbledore endeavors in these troubled times. But now, the young woman has returned and is even now in England. She was seen yesterday afternoon at the home of friends who were, we are sure, very happy to see her alive. Harry, Ron Weasley, and Hermione together again!_

 _What will this mean for Harry Potter-Black and his rampant social life? Will he be willing to give up his wooing of European Wizarding Beauties now that his former love has come home? Is Miss Granger even interested in her former romantic connection, or has she returned because of her interest and his continued rise in fame and fortune?_

 _The_ Daily Prophet _assures you that we'll get the answers!_

* * *

 _A/N: For the record, all chapter titles have been gleaned from (remove the spaces)_ latin - dictionary. net.

 _Next chapter up on Thursday, with a sneak peek tomorrow on my tumblr. :)_


	17. Intercapedo

_A/N: Kudos to Guest Cheryl who caught review #500! I so appreciate hearing from all my readers. :)_

 _Thanks, too, to **Katmom** who perseveres through it all and is still speaking to me._

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen**

 _ **July/August 2002**_

The day Rita's article appeared in the _Daily Prophet_ was a horrid day, as far as Hermione was concerned. She asked some questions and wrote a letter to the editor in protest a matter of days later.

 _To the Senior Editor of the Daily Prophet,_

 _As one newly "returned from the dead", as it were, I wanted to make a public statement and trust you will print this letter in its entirety._

 _I am now Hermione Dagworth, acknowledged blood-descendent of Hector Dagworth-Granger, the Potions Master._

 _Albus Dumbledore, formerly Headmaster of Hogwarts, did indeed remove me from England when I was almost slain by Death Eater Antonin Dolohov. However, at no time was it explained to me why I was banished from my homeland. Indeed, I was lied to repeatedly by my parents as to the state of things in Wizarding England, and Dumbledore himself placed a mail ward based upon my magical signature to keep my communications from reaching anyone in the United Kingdom._

 _As everyone here in England knows, I was reported deceased and my friends mourned for me. As everyone might not know, however, I was not told this. I was left abandoned, stranded in the United States with no idea as to why I was being ignored. _

_Dumbledore lied to everyone. What else is he lying about? He did not protect me; he, as they say in America, hung me out to dry! _

_For the record, I did not return to England to renew my relationship with Harry Potter-Black. I returned with the body of a brave Curse-Breaker from Gringotts, William Weasley. Weasley perished in the fight against Tom Riddle, who has changed his name to Lord Voldemort for reasons of his own. I returned to fight at Harry's side, as I did for years, and as I will continue to do as long as there is breath in my body._

 _-Hermione Jean Dagworth_

"So, did you mean it?" Harry asked her, having read her letter in the _Prophet_.

She blinked. "Mean what?"

He cleared his throat and looked anywhere on her face except her eyes. "Not coming back to pursue a relationship with me."

Hermione abandoned her breakfast and ran around the table to his side, kneeling next to his chair. "I said it like that to negate what she said about me just returning for you," she assured him, holding his gaze with her own. "I was going to return anyway—likely to give you a huge piece of my mind." He smiled but didn't say anything. The silence grew as she put the words in order to give him. Then, she moved to feather her hand through his hair, ignoring that ugly pressure in her chest. "I said I liked your idea of getting sorted, didn't I? Well, then. Harry . . ." She pressed her lips together. "You've always been the cornerstone of my magical life, you have to know that. My rock. Foundation. Everything I've learned, practically, I learned for you."

Harry nodded, but he didn't appear reassured. She let him study her face; they had new adult faces, the pair of them, and that took getting used to. "So, I'm a cause, Hermione?"

"You're my friend."

"Friend." He puffed out a breath and leaned back in his chair. "I didn't used to be just a friend."

"No, I loved you." It was easy to admit to, years after she'd written it, even knowing he never got her letters. "I wrote it over and over to you," she told him. "Even if you never saw."

"I . . . I loved you, too," he whispered. "I just didn't know it until you were gone, I don't think."

"For what it's worth, the idea of a month away is lovely," she said with a smile that she hoped shone in her eyes.

He perked up a bit and moved to catch a ringlet of her hair, wrapping it around his finger. "I'm rather attached to the idea myself."

She nodded and captured his hand in her own. "Good." If it were possible for hands to hug apart from the rest of their bodies, their hands did just that, and it felt almost as good, as well.

 **. . . .**

When Harry accompanied her to Gringotts to assess the status of her vault, Hermione was surrounded by no fewer than twenty people in Diagon Alley, including Rita Skeeter herself.

"Miss Granger! Miss Granger!"

Hermione ignored her. Harry put his arm around Hermione's shoulders, clearly paying no heed to the far-too-vocal cries of "Ahhhh" that resulted in the maneuver, to steer her around the crowd, for he had a certain advantage in height.

"You should probably talk to her, Hermione," he advised quietly.

She glowered up at him. "About what?"

He smirked. "Well, you did blackmail her once, didn't you?" She huffed and pushed through the crowd, not even smiling at the welcoming comments. He followed her, regaining her side and resting one hand on her lower back.

She sighed and leaned into him. "Fine. But I don't want to talk to her today. Besides, she didn't even use my proper name."

Instead, she spoke with Senior Manager Nimrod again, who had a slew of paperwork for her to sign. Harry was constantly besieged by goblins bearing parchments for him, notifications of business issues as well as, she could tell by the shadows in his eyes, the business of the upcoming funerals for the fallen.

Resolving to do her best, she slid her hand in his when they left the bank. "I'll be with you, Harry, at Luna's service." The blond girl—well, woman, Hermione supposed—had been important to Harry and her loss had pained him more deeply than others. "You have my entire support, you know."

He squeezed her hand and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. It was a friendly kiss, nothing romantic about it at all, but that was all right. The undercurrents were there and, she guessed, they'd get them sorted. Eventually.

* * *

 _ **Dumbledore Cottage**_

"Ariana."

Albus had read the _Prophet_ and Miss Granger's—Miss Dagworth's—letter. The edition was a few days old, now, but he'd kept it to analyze her words.

"Tom . . ." The ring felt like Tom Riddle. But it was one of the Hallows. The Resurrection Stone. Had Tom managed to incorporate his own magic into the Hallow or was it in the ring? And if the former, could he speak with Tom's spirit . . . ?

Or his sister's?

He sighed. One beloved spirit would not be available. "Gellert," he said on a heavy sigh. The only man Albus had ever loved was imprisoned at Nurmengard even yet. They had erred, he and Gellert, and Albus felt he had erred especially. If he had only been able to persuade his lover to his way of thinking . . .

That hadn't happened, but Albus had learned much of gaining the hearts and loyalty of those with whom he needed to work, whose cooperation was essential to accomplishing all the best and kept with his ideal of the greater good. Even without sexual connections—which, perhaps, were what hindered the accomplishment of all they had desired, he and Gellert.

Reflecting on his lover, he gazed upon the dark Resurrection Stone as it sat, cupped in the palm of his hand. "Ariana," he whispered again.

To his astonishment—well, perhaps not utter surprise, but he was startled even so—he caught the image of his young sister in the corner of his eye and blinked. "Ariana?"

"Albus," Ariana's shade murmured mournfully. "Why have you called me back to this plane?" The ethereal image of her, long hair moving about in an unfelt breeze, slender face, large eyes, stood just out of reach. "And why am I attached to something so dark in nature? Surely, my brother, you and Gellert haven't—"

He finally found his voice. "Ariana! I confess I wasn't sure you'd come. That the Hallow would still be one inside the ring."

"Well it is and here I am, but Albus, it hurts. What do you wish of me?"

His heart clenched. "I am so sorry, Ariana. So very sorry for what happened to you."

She shook her head. "All of that is from before, Albus. Now, you must live for the Light. Cast this dark thing away!" She bit her lip. "You weren't going to give it to Gellert, were you?"

"No, my dear. I don't see him any longer and he has never seen this."

"Then be rid of it. It's not of the Light and you should melt it in Fiendfyre!" Her form seemed to double over before him. "I have to go. This is . . . not right. Please, Brother. Do not call me hence again."

It cost him an effort that made his eyes burn in regret and sorrow, but he nodded. "I release you, Ariana. May your journey be peaceful and free from pain."

She had advised him to cast the ring aside. It was the ring that held the Horcrux, he knew. The ring that was evil enough to cause even a spirit pain. But he could not. Instead, he focused on it, feeling a great desire to slip the ring on his finger . . .

What might that do, if he did so? Might he then control Tom Riddle's spirit? Might he then have the means by which he could turn this around, reach Tom's heart, and bring him to see the error of his ways?

The more he stared at the intricately wrought gold of the ring, the more he thought this might be the case. He cast all the shields he knew about his person. All the barriers that he could remember that might shield his body and his magic.

Albus Dumbledore slid the ring onto the third finger of his right hand.

And screamed.

* * *

The summer morning was overcast but not rainy, cool enough so that there was no oppressive heat, even for August. The stares were unnerving, but Hermione held Harry's hand with subconscious possessiveness as she met them at the first of the memorial services for the most recently fallen in the war.

They had gathered to honor Luna Lovegood and William Weasley at the service being held at The Rookery in Ottery St. Catchpole, the home of their respective families.

Xenophilius Lovegood met them at an odd tree with a forked trunk that seemed to serve as a signpost for the cleared meadow beyond. His long, pale hair hung dankly about his shoulders, but his back was straight and his eyes clear when he saw Harry.

"Mister Lovegood," Harry began, his hand extended toward Luna's father. Hermione hung back a little—there in support of Harry but not exactly in the place of a co-mourner. "I am so very sorry."

Mr. Lovegood nodded slowly and took Harry's hand. "I received your owl, Harry. I know my Luna fought bravely, as her mother would have done."

"She brought honor to your name," Harry said quietly, "but her greatest value was always as my friend." His shoulders shook then, and Hermione stepped up quietly to place her hand between his shoulder blades. Harry seemed to take comfort in that, for he straightened his back a bit before adding, "She brought light to me in a time when I didn't know there was any to be had, and shared encouraging words I needed to hear."

"She considered you a dear friend." He glanced to Hermione. "Welcome back to England. My daughter had only good things to say of you, back in school." He smiled sadly. "She always thought you should have been in our House."

"Ravenclaw has always been the home of the wise," Hermione responded, bowing her head in acknowledgment of the compliment. "Please accept my condolences, Mister Lovegood. I understand that Luna displayed great courage."

"She did," Harry asserted. "To the very last."

Luna's father wiped at his eye with the back of his hand. "Thank you."

Harry blew out a breath and took Hermione's hand in one of his own, using his free hand to scrub at his face. It came away wet. She squeezed his hand but forebore to comment; his grief was private, she felt.

They moved toward the chairs and the crepe-bedecked podium in the center of the clearing. A sluggish breeze wove through the chairs, and ribbons fluttered here and there. The slight, graceful movements reminded Hermione of Luna herself, as she recollected the girl in the D.A. so long ago.

"I should probably sit up here," Harry murmured, leading the way to the second row on the left side. "Sit with me?"

"Of course."

He sat in the wooden folding chair and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. She stood at his side, watching the new arrivals and running her fingers through Harry's hair, trying not to pull it from the thin black mourning ribbon that held it at the back of his neck. She herself wore a new, sleeveless, knee-length sheath in navy blue, with her wand holstered at her wrist. She missed her crystal a great deal and hoped to take Harry to Arizona soon to introduce him to her friends and coven, there, as well as replacing her focus object.

"Hermione." The low tone of the greeting was respectful and appropriate for the venue. She smiled at Tonks, who approached on an elliptic, avoiding all the chairs in the middle of the meadow.

"Tonks. Good to see you. Where's Remus?"

"He and Sirius are with the Weasleys. They'll be here soon. Harry? How are you?"

Harry took a deep, loud breath and rose, eyes clear for the moment and a reassuring tilt to his lips. Hermione was vastly proud of him. "Well enough, Tonks, thank you. Thanks for coming."

The Auror grimaced, her hair turning suddenly black with a wave to it. It reminded Hermione of Sirius. "I had to, you know that. I feel responsible for Luna and, and the others. My informant—"

Harry interrupted her with a steady gaze. "No. Your informant, as you say, was dead on. You did what had to be done." He glanced at Hermione and reclaimed her hand in his. "We all did. It's a war, as I've been reminded more than once."

Tonks opened her mouth to say something else, but there was a sizable disruption near the double-trunked tree. Sirius and Remus flanked Arthur and Molly Weasley, and they were followed by all six of the remaining Weasley children. Hermione couldn't help the sharp ache in her chest as she beheld them. She still felt as if Bill's death could be laid at her feet.

Harry had tried to help her with the "If only!" regrets she carried.

"No one could have known that the Horcrux was in a living being," he had reminded her, even as late as that morning when they'd met at the top of the stairs before going down to a light breakfast. "Least of all you. You went in there blind, 'Mione. And you _still_ managed to handle the Horcrux." He'd cupped her face at the foot of the stairs and held her motionless whilst her heart thudded with a combined wistful longing and deep sorrow that confused her. "No one blames you. Or Sirius, for that matter. I'm grateful that you destroyed the bloody thing. The Weasleys—though they'll miss Bill always, I know—are grateful you brought him home to them. It's a war and we've all been casualties, one way or another." He dropped his gaze to her chest, but she knew he was referring to the scar that bisected her torso.

"All right," she had said then.

In the funeral clearing, she took a quick, shallow breath. "Do you want to wait for them here or meet them?"

"Let them get settled," Harry replied.

At length, those who came to honor Luna and Bill arrived and were seated. Two wizarding pictures of each of the fallen were revealed on either side of the podium. One picture of Luna was of her smiling, dancing with her father with her arms in the air. The other was a serious portrait in which she held a handful of wildflowers, staring into them as if all the secrets of Ravenclaw's Diadem were to be found there. Bill's portraits were similar—one lighthearted, one serious. He was playing Quidditch over The Burrow in one of them, hair flying out behind him like a Gryffindor scarf. The other was one Hermione doubted he knew of: sitting under a tree in the Weasley's orchard, eyes narrowed as he pulled grass up by the roots.

"What was wrong, I wonder," Hermione murmured to herself.

"Might have been after Fleur found her mate," Harry replied in a whisper.

Knowing Fleur only as the Champion from Beauxbaton from Hermione's own fourth year, she didn't have anything to say in response.

"Thank you for coming." Arthur Weasley took up his position as speaker, a checkered handkerchief in one hand as he stood next to the podium. "In a time of darkness, we have all known what it is to lose someone important to us . . ."

His words were careful, heartfelt, and accented with choked sobs that no one faulted. Mr. Weasley was followed by Mr. Lovegood, who waxed rhapsodic on the value of friendship for his daughter, Luna, and how important relationships were in a world gone mad.

Harry stiffened and relaxed by turns, but he maintained body contact with Hermione the entire time. She leaned into him as well, drawing comfort from the strength of his arm and the way he held himself. She was studying him for a few moments while Mister Lovegood composed himself before concluding.

"What?" Harry asked her, leaning in to put his words next to her ear.

She trembled a bit, but turned her head to answer, liking the way his skin felt next to hers. "I just was thinking . . . you're so brave, Harry."

"I've had to . . . do this . . . far too often. But it was hardest for you," he told her, brushing her nose lightly with his before pulling away.

She caught her breath and held his hand even more tightly. Xenophilius Lovegood cleared his throat. "But even now, amidst our sorrows, there is hope. Friends," he went on to say, looking significantly at Hermione herself, "are still amongst us, and we can count on them daily. I know my daughter would be so glad to know this and she would want us all to keep our friends close to us in the dark days to come."

 **. . . .**

It was too much to expect that the press would stay away from the funerals. The Battle of Piccadilly was still dark in the memories of anyone who lived or worked or patronized Diagon Alley.

A surge of the curious seemed to surround Hermione whenever she went anywhere. Questions peppered every shopping trip, the ends of other funerals.

"Hermione! Miss Dagworth! You said Albus Dumbledore lied about your death and disappearance, implying other things he's said have been untrue as well. What might they be?"

"Miss Dagworth! Do you plan on bringing charges against Albus Dumbledore for wrongful exile?"

"Miss Dagworth! Is it true you and Harry Potter have a child secretly in the United States?"

Some of the questions, Hermione answered with a suggestive lilt of her brow, but some she had to handle with the full force of a diatribe. "No, Harry and I do _not_ have a secret child living in the United States! We don't have a child anywhere!"

"Merlin," she muttered when she'd escaped the latest round of botheration. "This is getting out of hand. Damn Albus Dumbledore!"

 **. . . .**

Michael Corner and Terry Boot had a tandem service as well, and Harry was asked to speak at it. He did so, Hermione doing her best to give him all she had in support as he met the faces of mourning friends and family.

Alicia Spinnet's services were three days after. Hermione almost didn't go, after the flurry of interest that had arisen after the Corner/Boot Memorial. But it was a private service, held in Hogwarts itself, and Harry had been persuasive.

"We can send Grace hunting afterward," he had said. "Just to make sure Hogwarts is clean." She nodded and Harry pulled her close in an embrace. When she drew in a deep breath against him, he sighed into her hair. "How're you doing?"

"All right," she said. "I miss my crystal." She felt the dark compulsion/revulsion in her chest, but ignored it as she always tried to do these days. Harry needed her. "But, but it's been good to see so much of you, Harry." Rubbing her hands up and down his back, over the t-shirt he had been wearing to Horcrux hunt with Remus at Grimmauld Place, she was gratified to feel him do likewise. His hands were hard, but careful as they moved up and down, coming to rest at her hips. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to do more than research."

"Just having you here is enough to help, Hermione," he said as he bent his head. She could feel his voice behind her ear and a flare of heat blossomed within her. "Knowing you're alive and well. Here with me. That's . . . so much."

"It really is." She tightened her arms around him, relishing the feel of the hard planes of muscle she could feel through their clothes. "Oh, it's so nice to know you didn't hate me."

He chuckled a bit. "Never. Not for a moment."

She pulled away enough to see his face. "Well, in third year, with the whole broom thing." She smiled a little.

He didn't. Instead, his expression grew intense. "Never," he said again. "Not for a moment."

She wanted to kiss him. Kiss him as an adult. A woman kissing a man. She wanted that so much. His eyes darkened as his pupils blew wide; he wanted it as well, she knew he did. "Harry?"

He didn't answer save by the closing of his eyes as he nudged her face up to his. Her heart pounded hard, but she felt his do the same and she was entirely on board with this. It had been less than two weeks since they'd seen one another again, but it was enough. More than enough, she felt.

"Moony! Get your furry arse down here right now!" Sirius called up the stairs from the kitchen.

"Coming, Pads!"

Harry's laugh brushed against her skin as Remus's voice reached them from the landing above. "His timing sucks."

Remus didn't even look apologetic when he joined them at the foot of the stairs. "Aren't you two supposed to be looking for something?"

Hermione just tucked her head under Harry's chin. "Thought I was," she muttered.

Remus laughed, but Hermione wasn't looking at his face. Still, his amusement was clear in his voice when he said, "I'll, er, tell Sirius you're busy, then."

"No," Harry said. "I think we're not just now."

"Maybe later," Hermione suggested, moving away from him. She smirked at Remus. "Thanks, _Moony_."

"You're welcome, _Grace_!"

* * *

 **A/N:** Like Jane Austen in _Mansfield Park_ , I am not giving exact dates as to the progression of Harry and Hermione's rekindling romance at this point in the story. If things seem to be progressing too soon for you, remember they were trusted lifelong friends. If it seems to be taking longer than you wish, remember there are years in the middle that had to be handled.

And I am not chronicling every day of their renewal. Imagine them spending tons of time together in a lovely manor in Derbyshire when they're not attending funerals or hunting for a Horcrux.

And I haven't forgotten Dumbledore... Nor Tom! More on them in the next chapter, which will post Sunday. A sneak peek should appear on my tumblr on Friday!


	18. Exosculor

_**A/N**_ _: Ah, so there's a bunch of very angry people waiting to see what happens to Dumbledore. Nice! Well, I haven't left him alone._

 _My thanks to everyone who is reading and adding this to their lists! It's lovely to interact with you, too! A reminder that this is an_ _ **Alternate Universe**_ _fic, so things are_ _different_ _than they are in canon. Sometimes by a lot, sometimes by a little._

 _My gratitude, as always, to_ _ **Katmom**_ _, who finds time for me and my words in the midst of making amazing cheesecake. Why can't we live in the same time zone?_

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen (exosculor)**

 _ **Dumbledore Cottage on the River Esk, Scotland**_

Severus Snape felt a strong sense of justice as he stared down at his former friend and employer, Albus Dumbledore.

"Severus," the older wizard whined. "Please . . . "

It was not unlike the exchange that had occurred when Severus first found Dumbledore. He had heard the older man, of course, because he'd been tailing him for years, really, when he wasn't dancing attendance on the Dark Lord. The shrill, bone-penetrating shriek that had come from the cottage had set Severus's heart to knocking hard against his ribs.

Dashing in the door, he'd found the former Headmaster on the floor, curled around his own hand. "Severus, please. Help!" The man was obviously in excruciating agony and he seemed to have no room for curiosity about why Severus was even there.

Severus had delayed a bit, claiming caution as his reason. In truth, though, he was inwardly sneering. _Take that, murderer! Kill my Lily, will you? You deserve every moment!_

Whilst he gloried in the torture Dumbledore experienced, though, Severus considered Potter. Lord Potter- _Black_ as he was, now. His girlfriend was back, apparently from the dead, but Severus knew that Potter would want his vengeance as well. And Lily wouldn't approve of prolonging Dumbledore's agony.

"I'll have to find a solution, Albus," he muttered. "Stop scratching on it. Merlin. You'll skin yourself."

"Bind me," the powerful wizard directed him. "So I don't kill myself."

"I will, but I want to hear how this happened," Severus said before leaving.

He Apparated to his own Secret-Kept house with its extensive library to find curse bindings. A piece of jewelry had been on Albus's hand, and it was likely cursed. With something wonderfully dark and malevolent. What was it? Why had Albus Poncey Wanking Bloody Dumbledore put on a Merlin-cursed ring, anyway?

He collected the books he had sought as well as packing a veritable potions lab. He didn't want to aid Albus, but Potter deserved to be there when the old man ended his murdering existence on this plane.

For Lily's sake, Severus decided, he could allow her son his day.

And so it went. Severus cast many incantations to retard the spread of the curse that was turning Albus Dumbledore's wand hand a deathly shade of charcoal black . . . and, sometimes, he even provided mercy with a pain relieving charm.

Sometimes.

Like that very morning. "Of course, Albus," he said with a silky reassurance. "It's just that the curse is so powerful, it burns right through—"

"Severus! Please!"

" _Lenio_ ," Severus murmured, casting wandlessly.

Albus sighed as the charm did indeed penetrate and give his nerve endings some relief. "Thank you, my boy."

Gritting his teeth against the familiar appellation, Severus merely nodded. "Now, you said you'd used the ring to speak to Ariana?"

"No," Albus said, breathing deeply and wiping sweat from his forehead with his healthy hand. He sipped from a goblet of a potion that Severus had crafted as well. "I spoke to her through the auspices of the Resurrection Stone. Surely you recognize the Hallow?"

After much extended questioning, and many halts for more pain treatment and a renewal of the admittedly weak curse-binder, Albus shared his reason for putting on the ring and it made Severus's skin crawl.

He focused, drew his wand, and cast. " _Soporis_."

Instantly, weakened by his ordeal, Albus Dumbledore fell asleep. Then, Severus Snape left the older man's bedroom and went to the living room. Much against his preference, he had to send his Patronus to Potter. The young man deserved to know what had happened.

* * *

 _ **Grimmauld Place**_

Harry sputtered after running into another cobweb. "Can't we just send bluebell lights everywhere and brighten the room up?" he asked Hermione, his resident Dark Magic expert.

Not that that was all she was. He had hopes that she was going to be his girlfriend again—soon!—but that train was derailed by the Marauders. _Delayed_ , he told himself firmly. _It was delayed, not derailed._

"We could," Hermione called from a place on the floor behind a low bookshelf. "But that might compromise the older texts. Use a Lumos if you're needing more light," she suggested. "Is there a hoovering charm for cobwebs?"

He crossed the room to her, seeing her dim shape topped by a halo of rich hair, and shook his head. "You don't know?"

"Never had quite such a mess to clean," she said, wiping her hands off on her thighs. Wearing jeans and a simple red t-shirt that day, Hermione was dressed for dirty work. Harry held his hand down to her. "Come here," he invited softly.

They were alone. In a darkish room. Without house-elves, Marauders, Aurors, or best friends. She took his hand and stood, casting _Lumos_ herself and smiling when she saw his face. "Look at you," she murmured, feathering her fingertips over his skin. "What did you do? Find a nest of tiny Acromantulae?"

He chuckled and started pulling soft, cobwebby strands from her hair. "You're no better." She huffed when he conjured a flannel and cast a silent _Aguamenti_ to wet it down. "Now, let _me_ take care of _you_ , Hermione," he said in what he hoped was a soft tone. Her brows rose but she kept her lips pressed together as he smoothed the wet flannel over her face. "A cobweb siphoning charm might be a good thing to create. If we'd known one years ago, it would have saved us time in the summer."

Her hands didn't remain still. She continued to do her best to rid him of cobwebs, also dusting his sleeves off and blowing something off his forearm. Feeling her breath on his skin was a sure way to capture his imagination. He Banished the flannel and smiled into her cleaner face, taking her busy hands in his own. "Hey."

"Hey."

"No Marauders around."

She grinned, tucked her Lumosed wand behind one ear, and stepped into his arms fully, her hands sliding over his shirt just above the belt on his jeans. "Imagine that." She sighed and cocked her head. "Should I call Grace?"

He rolled his eyes, feeling a bit like a teenager. "Do you think we're in a deep, dark cavern?"

"No, the Restricted Section," she whispered, her lips spread in a grin.

"Cor, Hermione in the library," Harry murmured. He had to touch her, so he did, rubbing his hands up and down her back and tugging her a bit closer to himself. "Now there's a fantasy," he confessed.

He startled her, he could see. "You too?" she whispered.

"Oh yeah. Hermione in the library," he repeated against her lips before she canceled the Lumos charm and joined him in a kiss that was in no way tentative. He tasted her and she opened for him, sighing audibly into his mouth. He gripped her tighter, just at the hips, and felt her melt against him, settling her curves next to his longer bones.

He had to devour her, he needed her, every single part of her just fit so well with him that it seemed as if the years had passed to give them this kind of confidence with one another. She pressed herself against him, a tender sound in her throat, and he tore his lips from hers to breathe, just _breathe_.

"Harry. Wow." He moved back to see her heavy-lidded eyes and kiss-rich lips. "Just, wow."

"You as well. Wow." It occurred to him that they'd _both_ had a lot of experience since they last kissed, but there was no way in hell he'd say that. "So . . ." He swallowed, not sure what he wanted to say or how. Nervous energy buzzed through his muscles and he moved his arms up and down her back again, delighted to feel a strip of skin at her waist as he did.

"So?"

He took a quick, sharp breath and gripped her hips with perhaps a bit too much force. Trying to relax he asked, "Will you stay here? With me?"

"I said I would."

"I mean, I know you had . . . friends . . . in Arizona. You said as much."

"Adam . . ."

Jealousy exploded brightly in his chest, but Harry refused to let her go, instead tugging her close again to feel her, alive and solid against him. "Adam. Were you together?" How did a bloke ask his best friend and former girlfriend, the love of his life, if she'd had sex with another man?

"Well, yes, but it began for a ritual. The one where my magical center was enhanced." She winced and he did as well. "It hurt."

"Sex?"

She shook her head and moved back a bit so that her hands could run up and down his chest and abdomen without looking at his face. "It was a sex magic kind of ritual, Harry. It required me to be a virgin."

He blanked out at that point. "Er, when did you do it?" He winced again. "Sorry, I guess, I—" _I feel guilty I didn't look for you anyway. I'm kind of angry that you knew I was alive and had sex with someone else. I feel angry with myself for making this an issue . . ._ "I wondered how long you . . ."

"Waited?" she asked with an edge to her voice. Her hands still at his chest and he could feel her limbs stiffen as well. "Longer than you did."

"Hermione, that's not what I meant. Not entirely." His head started to throb a bit, but he tried to ignore it because this conversation was important.

"No?"

"No." He took her hands in his and held them, waiting until she was meeting his eyes again. He focused on the wand still behind her ear. " _Lumos_." It lit and she gasped with a smile. He shrugged. "I wondered if you had broken up recently? Or even at all, you know, before you came. I didn't actually plan to, to come between you and . . . Adam."

"You didn't. It was last year, on my birthday."

She'd been a virgin until then? He was shocked. Pleasantly, but still. "And you're all right, now?"

"I didn't love him, Harry. Not the way—" She closed her eyes and dropped her head. "The way I loved you. So yes, I'm fine. Not rebounding or anything. You?"

"Only fair," he remarked, moving their joined hands to her chin until she looked up at him again. "It's been a while since I've been _with_ someone, and even then—like I told you, they were distractions. Not you. It's always, Hermione, been you. Always."

He saw tears catch the faint light coming from her wand and felt his heart turn over. "Harry . . ." She rolled up and pressed her lips to his, softly, gently, but he felt even more emotion than he had before, as if he were a cauldron set to boil with the most amazing potion ever. Amortentia in the darkest library in the United Kingdom.

"You're laughing?" she murmured against his cheek.

"You're my Amortentia."

She laughed lightly. "You've always been mine. Even if, technically, you're not the indicator but the, the heart." She winced, her whole face scrunching up. "Damn it. I've been ignoring it but I can't now and—I wonder if, do you have a headache?"

"Now that you mention it," he admitted reluctantly. "What bloke wants to tell his girl he has a headache?" He wiggled his brows at her and could see the effort she made to smile as she retrieved her wand in her right hand and stepped away from him.

" _Nox. Expecto Patronum_!"

Grace appeared, lighting up the library in ribbons of silver. "Hello, there." Even the library was made beautiful by the Patronus's presence and Harry felt his heart gladden to see it.

"Find the Dark Magic, Grace," Hermione directed her Patronus. "But not here, not with Harry," she said firmly, standing in front of him for a few moments.

The lumbering bear moved throughout the dark library but then disappeared between two bookshelves and Hermione went, too. " _Alohomora_!" she called. Over her shoulder, she told Harry, "I've had to do this before." A hidden door in the wall swung open.

Eager to see this happen when the Dark Magic was _outside_ of his head, Harry followed her closely into a small chamber that was, aside from Grace's silver light, a black pit. Grace followed her snout, moving through solid objects before she seemed to find something on a shelf and she turned in front of it before returning to Hermione.

"Oh, you're amazing," Hermione said, following Grace back to the shelf.

Harry went, too, and saw what the great silver nose was indicating. A locket on a chain. "Excellent!" he said, smiling at Grace who rose up on her hind legs before falling and dissipating through the wall that led to the library. He picked it up by the chain. "I think it'll be okay to touch here," he said, but his head started aching with a familiar, pulsing pain.

Her voice was edged and worried. "Bring it back to someplace bright, okay? I can ward it if you think the Dark Magic is going to be, er, pervasive.

He grimaced and half-felt his way out of the small room. "Dad! Remus!"

In the library, Hermione glanced at him, concern all over her face. "Harry! You're bleeding!"

* * *

In the kitchen, Sirius and Remus were playing Muggle poker at one end of the long dining table. No Magic allowed, which made the game interesting. "You know," Remus remarked, "we could be doing this with alcohol."

Sirius snorted and set down two cards. "Two. No. My son is looking for a piece of that dark wanker and I'm not going to be impaired whilst he does so." He nodded as Remus dealt him two cards and sniffed a bit and tossed in some coins. "Ten Galleons."

"Shit," Remus muttered in disgust. "I fold."

Sirius's grin lit up his face as he set down his cards and raked in his winnings. "Ha! Gotcha there, Moony!"

"Dad! Remus!"

"Harry, you're bleeding!"

The first cry launched Sirius to his feet fast enough to topple his chair to the floor of the kitchen whilst Remus's eyes flashed golden and his nostrils flared.

The second exclamation, though, had both men leaping toward the kitchen door, colliding, before Sirius swore, flipped out his wand, and Apparated to the library, where he knew Harry and Hermione had been last seen. Remus, once Sirius was out of the way, followed up the stairs so he could get the surge of lupine energy out of his system before he saw Harry's blood, wherever it was coming from.

Sirius inhaled deeply, once, upon arriving with a popping sound in the library. "What?" he demanded of the young people. Harry was holding a necklace, half-collapsed against a reading table. Hermione was crouched next to him, peering up at his forehead. "What the bloody hell happened, Hermione?"

"We found a Horcrux and Harry's head started to bleed. Headache."

"Happened when I was in the Room of Requirement with Bill as well," Harry informed him, looking up at Sirius from an angle and grimacing. "It's this thing," he offered, waving the gold necklace.

Remus moved forward and carefully touched the chain. "Smells dark."

"It is," Hermione stated flatly. "I'm going to clean him up now. Did you need something first?"

"It's really a Horcrux?" Sirius whispered, half in hope and half in dread. Hope because that would mean they were that much closer to destroying all the bits and pieces of Voldemort. Dread because the locket was ineffably dark.

"It is, yeah. Feels just like the others," Harry said, wincing as Hermione wiped his forehead.

"How'd you get rid of the last one, Hermione?" Remus inquired.

"Fiendfyre at Gringotts. Their lower vaults—I think it was Number Three?—are impervious to Fiendfyre."

"That's what Bill used as well," Harry reminded him.

With a nod, Sirius sighed. "Then that's where we'll go. When you're ready."

"How many of these things are there, Harry?" Remus wanted to know.

"Dunno." Harry shrugged and exchanged a look with Hermione that warmed Sirius considerably, for all it wasn't a look of abiding passion. More of reliance, comprehension, and a deep sort of bond that went beyond the average couple. It was almost as if they could communicate through Legilimency, though Sirius didn't think that was in Hermione's skill set, anyway. Harry sighed after a few moments. "Dumbledore told me that Tom had created 'some' soul anchors. I figure that's more than two and less than ten."

Hermione dashed across the library to a fringed, brown leather bag, from which she extracted a phial. "Pain potion," she explained when Sirius asked what it was. "It isn't perfect, but I hope it'll help."

Harry downed the potion and returned the phial to Hermione, who stoppered it up again. "So far, Harry's handled Tom Riddle's Diary on his own with Fawkes. And then he and Bill found Ravenclaw's Diadem and Bill discovered Hufflepuff's Cup. That's three."

"And you found that one in Arizona," Harry said. "That's four."

Sirius grimaced and glanced at his son's head, now blood-free but still scarred. "And Harry's got one in his head. That's five."

Remus shuddered. "Merlin. And that locket there is six. Well, that's less than ten and more than two, yeah?"

"If only we knew how many there were exactly!" Hermione said, wringing out the flannel she'd conjured to clean Harry's face.

Sirius nodded and jerked his chin to the nearest chair so that Hermione would take the hint and get his son to sit down. "And give me that," he added.

Hermione shook her head, biting her lip as she slid the chain of the locket over her wrist. "I can seal it, so that there's no danger of the soul piece escaping before we can destroy it."

"We?" Remus said, sitting as close to Harry as he could, which meant on the corner of a heavy desk and rather looming over the couple who shared a large leather chair. "Does it have to be Harry? Or you, Hermione?"

"Bill did it," Harry reminded him. "It's just a matter of being safe."

"All right, let's go to Gringotts then and—"

"Harry Potter!" A silver doe leapt into the room through a heavy panel of draperies and Sirius just about got sick.

"Lily," he whispered, darting a frightened glance to Remus, who had gone parchment-white. "That's her Patronus, Moony!"

"But that's Severus Snape's voice," Harry said, shifting Hermione so that she sat half on his lap.

"Dumbledore has put on a cursed ring. I am at his family cottage in Scotland. Please come." The doe gracefully did a little hop before it turned to run out the way it had come.

Sirius had to sit down, as his knees were still wobbly from the unexpected Patronal appearance. "Where is this place?" he managed to ask.

Remus put a finger into the air. "Er, I know of it. When you were, er, in Azkaban? He let me use it as a base of operations on occasion when I was working for the Order."

"Well, we should go," Harry said, keeping Hermione in his arms as he stood, which Sirius noted with some pride. He set her on her feet and smiled at her incredulous expression. "After we destroy the locket."

Hermione nodded. "But there's enough of us, Harry, we could divide and conquer, right?"

Sirius rose again to his feet and tapped his wand with rather too much force against his palm. "I don't know, Hermione. We could, but if I see Albus Dumbledore again, I might kill him."

"Not if I kill him first," Harry said, practically growling.

Hermione frowned but didn't register a protest to either of their murderous declarations. "What if Remus and I see Dumbledore and you and Harry destroy the locket?" she suggested with an inquiring lift of her brow.

Harry immediately pulled her flush against him. "No way in hell, Hermione. Not letting you anywhere near that man unless I'm with you." Remus coughed and Sirius smiled to see Harry blush a bit. "No offense, Remus, truly. I just—I don't trust him."

"I don't trust Snape overmuch," Remus countered.

"Look, Snape said Dumbledore was cursed or something, right?" Hermione huffed a bit and pulled perhaps five centimeters from Harry's side. "I'll be fine."

Five minutes later, they'd settled it thus: Sirius and Hermione would destroy the locket and Harry and Remus would go to Scotland.

"I'm not happy about this," Sirius murmured as the young people left for Farecliffe Hall to change for their respective errands.

Remus shrugged. "I'll keep him safe, Pads. Snape won't be a problem, either, right?"

Sirius sighed long and loud. "No, no he won't. The man hates Dumbledore and has pledged to aid Harry in that matter. I just—" He made a disgusted sound. "I just hate him."

"C'mon. Let's head to the Hall and get sorted."

* * *

A/N: Note on _Lenio_ spell: found in a fanon wikia. Credit given to Aya Diefair here:  harrypotter fanon . wikia wiki / Pain _ Relief _ Charm

Sneak peek for chapter nineteen should be up on my tumblr on Monday, and the chapter itself will post on Wednesday.


	19. Crucio

_**A/N:** Many thanks to everyone who is reading! Also, a cup of her favorite tea with a slice of her famous cheesecake to **Katmom** , who lets me partake in a virtual way of her awesome baking._

 _To guest_ _ **rta**_ _: You caught something for me, and I thank you. Thing is, the number was not a number Harry trusted by any means, so it didn't stick as well as it might have. Besides, the number was wrong because Dumbledore lied about it. So in the end, the truth comes out here._

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen**

 _ **Farecliffe Hall**_

"I'll side-along you, Harry." Remus frowned, his eyes inwardly focused as his thoughts lingered wherever they were. Harry just wanted to confront Dumbledore on his own terms. "What is your plan?" the older wizard asked as they moved to stand in the foyer of Farecliffe Hall.

Harry had to smile a bit, despite the circumstances. "What do you think, Remus? We're both garbed for battle, aren't we?" He gestured between the two of them. Black trousers and shirts, even in late summer. Against the pale walls, they looked a bit intimidating, he supposed.

Remus took a deep breath. "I guess we are. What's your plan?"

"Honestly, I want to end him, but I can't. Not yet." Remus frowned and nodded shortly. Harry continued. "So, what I need from him is to know how many Horcruxes there are, exactly, and if he knows how to get this thing out of my head."

"Are you going to tell him you know what he did?"

Harry blew out a long breath and thought on it. "I want to, you know. I do. I want him to be afraid. To live however long we let him, wondering how we'll end him."

"I can tell you from personal experience that that sort of waiting is its own brand of torture," Remus remarked, a gleam in his eyes making them appear golden for a moment rather than their usual green.

"I'm okay with torture when it comes to Dumbledore." He truly felt he was. He would never forget the memory Severus Snape had found. Never. Seeing Dumbledore cast the Killing Curse at his mum had made it possible for Harry to want to do likewise. And more. "Especially that sort—the sort he's brought on himself."

"Exactly. All right. We go, we find out how many there are, and then?" Remus slid his wand into his hand expectantly.

"And then we bind Dumbledore or whatever we need to do to keep him from running off until Voldemort's been handled." Handled, yes. That was indeed one way of putting it.

"All right. And what about you and Hermione?" Remus asked with a very Marauder-like grin. "Any plans to celebrate?"

"What about you and Tonks?" Harry asked in counter.

The older wizard just rolled his eyes. "I plan on marrying her, if you want to know. As soon as this is . . . how did you say it? Handled."

"Really?" Harry grinned. "Good on ya, Moony. Let's get going, then."

Grimacing against the reliable discomfort of Side-Along Apparition, Harry linked arms with Remus and took a sharp breath through his nose. The world spun away to return with the sound of a river, the quiet, peaceful burbles and rushes a welcome change from some places he'd arrived at over the years.

* * *

 _ **Gringotts Wizarding Bank**_

Sirius offered Hermione his arm in a casual manner as they entered the ornate business floor of the bank. He did this for two reasons: she was his son's chosen woman—everyone around them knew that, even if the couple in question hadn't said anything to that effect yet—and he wanted it to be very clear to everyone that she had his countenance and approval, regardless of what might be getting printed in the _Prophet_.

They were met immediately by a bustling, bristling goblin whose name Sirius couldn't remember. "Lord Black. Miss Dagworth. Who did you wish to speak with today? Your account manager, Lord Black, or Senior Manager Nimrod, Miss Dagworth?"

Sirius nodded at Hermione, who spoke. "Hello, sir," she said to the small but forceful fellow. "I would actually like to speak with Senior Manager Nimrod. If you could tell him I have the same business as I had the day we met, that might help."

"Oh! Of course, miss. Come right this way. I'll take you to his office."

Sirius almost chuckled at the goblin's big eyes and awed demeanor. "So you've got the Senior Manager in your pocket, Hermione?" He was more than aware of the wide eyed stares that followed them through the business area of the bank. He patted Hermione's hand and saw heads bend toward one another as the whispers began. To her credit, Hermione ignored them all, though he could see the faint rise of color along her cheek. "Don't suppose you had to deal with this in the States."

"No," she said crisply. "I did not." As they entered a carpeted corridor, she huffed and glanced up at him. "Honestly. I missed everyone terribly, but it was quite nice to just be a witch in a coven, you know? Without all the overtones."

They reached an ornate office, were shown in, and Hermione took a seat without ceremony. It was clear that she had been there before. Sirius watched with appreciation as she informed the Senior Manager what they had found and proposed destruction in Vault Number Three.

Nimrod barely even glanced his way, which made him smile. Yes, the Wizarding World would be in excellent hands if Harry and Hermione were the next generation to guide it.

After a thorough examination of the box which contained the locket, Nimrod made a sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a growl. "Right then, Miss Dagworth. I recommend we descend to the lowest level. Fiendfyre?"

"I can still do it." Sirius shifted, something making his fingers twitch, and she turned a bit toward him. "Sirius?"

"I have been known to be able to do some wild magic in my day," he said with no hint of modesty whatsoever. "Senior Manager Nimrod, Hermione, since this was found in my family's keeping, I'd like the privilege of destroying it."

The goblin's bushy brows rose into his furrowed forehead. "This is an honorable request. Let us not waste more time. Miss Dagworth? Bring it with you; I'll not touch it and, frankly," he added with a meaningful tilt of his head, "I don't trust a man from the House of Black to do so, Ancient and Noble as they are, it's a Dark House."

Sirius smirked when Hermione stared at him. "What? It's true."

They passed out of the office, down a corridor with ornate lighting, to an alcove with a small door. "The lift," Senior Manager Nimrod said. "It's the only one." The goblin pressed his hand on a metal plate—it looked like gold—and Sirius could immediately hear the mechanisms of a lift running a car to their floor.

"Why don't you use these to get to the other levels?" he asked.

Nimrod snorted. "We prefer traveling through the caverns. This is only done because of the severity of the duty, and the need to protect it. As well, of course, for efficiency." They entered the lift and the door closed silently. "Destruction of Dark Magic earns no Galleons, after all."

That may have been true, Sirius reflected scant minutes later, but pointing his wand at the warded box, calling, "Ignem Diaboli!" and casting a dragon-shaped fire at a piece of the Dark Wanker's soul felt worth thousands of Galleons. He didn't say so, however.

Damned goblin might have charged him for the use of the vault!

"Five," Hermione whispered. "Diary, Cup, Snake, Diadem, Locket."

"There's still that other one," Sirius said as they returned to the lift, much lighter of heart.

"Another?" Senior Manager Nimrod nodded quickly. "Bring it here and we will allow you the use of the vault again, Lord Black."

"No!" Sirius and Hermione shouted.

The goblin held up a hand. "Fine. Your choice. I have a bank to run."

* * *

 _ **Dumbledore Cottage**_

Harry smiled at the river that ran just steps away from his boots as he settled his feet on the ground. "Here?" he inquired of Remus. "Dumbledore's cottage is here?"

"It is indeed."

"Snape."

"Severus." Harry glanced at Remus, who had adopted a wary stance, still with his wand in his hand. Harry continued forward toward the former Potion's Professor with his empty hands up. "It's been a long time." He couldn't see Severus Snape without remembering the horrible memory the older man had found but he was grateful for it, even so.

"Indeed. I've got Albus bound and Stupefied at the moment, at his own request," he added with a quick, irritated glare at Remus that Harry understood and left unremarked. "He's been in a great deal of pain." Severus smiled thinly. "I've let him enjoy it on occasion."

Harry pursed his lips into a thoughtful _O_. "Well, I'd have done much the same, I guess. How long have you been here?"

Severus appeared to think about it. "Well, I didn't actually cast a Tempus, Potter. Perhaps three days, perhaps more. What, with having to dash back and forth for books on halting the progression of curses, and power suppression for one of the most powerful wizards of our age, I haven't had time to keep a diary."

Remus cleared his throat and ostentatiously kept his wand in plain view. Harry held in his sigh as a light wind ruffled Remus's hair. His former Defense professor stepped to Harry's side. "Harry and I had a plan, Snape. Come in, ask some questions, secure the man, get out."

Severus bowed in a mocking manner. "By all means. Let us _execute_ the _plan_."

The cottage was a small one, of the sort sometimes called a "but and a ben" due to its construction of having one room abutting the other. There was a main room and a sleeping room. This cottage, presumably, would have had indoor plumbing but, judging by the spell work that Harry could see in the Runes carved around the door, that might not be the case. The cottage was quite old. Dumbledore was in the sleeping chamber, not apparently conscious.

"What did you do to him?" Remus wanted to know.

" _Petrificus Totalis_ , after an _Immobulus_ ," Severus replied with a smug sort of air. "I do let him out of it occasionally. He has needed to drink on occasion, and eat a little."

Dumbledore, garbed in a simple set of white, sleeveless robes, lay on a bed of rough-hewn wood. His beard was a veritable rat's nest, his glasses cracked. But what caught and held the eye was his right arm. It was black. As if it had been carved from coal, almost. Not shriveled or shrunken, but dry and inanimate. He was bearing a gold ring with a dark stone upon one splayed finger. And he wore purple socks.

"He killed my mum," Harry whispered.

"He killed my friend," Remus said on a growl.

"He killed my first friend," Severus said after a moment, sounding rather more detached than Harry would have expected but, then, Severus had been here with Dumbledore for a while. "I would have let him die in his torment, Potter, but for thinking you were owed your chance with him as well."

"Torment?" Remus inquired, his tone dry and seemingly disinterested.

Harry was a bit bemused at how academic they all seemed at the moment. Inside himself, Harry wanted to cast a series of Diffindo spells at the old wizard, the death of a thousand slices. But then, a Reducto curse would not go amiss, either. His heart was pounding hard, and his head had begun to ache again.

"Dark Magic. There's some here, isn't there?"

Snape's focus snapped to Harry's face. "Yes. He told me. The ring, there? He believes it to be a piece of the Dark Lord's spirit."

 _A Horcrux_ , Harry said to himself. "That would explain it." He rubbed at the skin near the scar—Rune?—on his forehead. "And it did that to him? His arm?"

"It did."

Remus cleared his throat again. A glance showed Harry that his honorary uncle was fighting some powerful emotions himself, his throat working and teeth grinding as he rolled his shoulders. "What did he tell you? I presume you interrogated him?"

Snape pushed white sleeves up his forearms before tucking his hands into the pockets of his black trousers. "I did. He said he Summoned Ariana with the stone, there. He claims it is the Resurrection Stone, one of the Deathly Hallows. He also said, Potter, that you have a Hallow as well."

"I do? What's that?"

Remus held up a hand. "From an old children's story. Still, some seek out the Hallows. Like Xenophilius Lovegood. He writes about them in his paper on occasion."

"A story? But what—"

"Shall we educate the Supposed Savior of the Wizarding World another time, Lupin?" Remus snarled but Severus ignored him. "You have your Invisibility Cloak, Potter. And there's also the Elder Wand. The three of them together would make their, well, holder? Master? The supposed Master of Death."

Remus seemed to sniff the aging wizard. "And Dumbledore's got at least one."

"Two. He, er, let that slip."

"Let's Rennervate him, then," Harry said. "I need some answers and then we need to lock him up."

"I am not going to act as his gaoler," Severus said, folding his arms across his chest. Harry could see the Dark Mark, deep black against pale skin. "I have things to do."

"Moody?" Harry wondered, eyeing Remus.

"He's Head Auror Pro Tem," Remus reminded him.

Severus let out a dark chuckle. "Oh, I think he'd _retire_ for this opportunity." Then, he turned toward Dumbledore, extended his wand, and said, " _Finite Incantatem_ ," to free Dumbledore of the binding that had held him.

Harry was not prepared for the immediate keening that resulted. "What happened?"

Severus affected a very innocent look. "Oh. I must have also canceled the Lenio charm."

"Severus . . . please . . . "

"Hello, Dumbledore," Harry said clearly, moving to stand next to the bed, but not close enough to be within the elderly wizard's reach.

Dumbledore's eyes widened even as he grimaced in obvious pain. "Harry? My boy?"

"I need answers, Dumbledore."

The former Headmaster nodded slowly. "And I need to be freed from his cursed ring! It's a Horcrux, Harry," he said, apparently not even confirming that all within hearing range were allowed to know what a Horcrux was.

Harry didn't let that bother him, then, either. "How many are there? I need to know."

"I told you, once." He hissed as he looked to try to lift his blackened arm. "Here's one. You know about that. And there are the others. Five others."

Remus stepped nearer, as well. It felt to Harry as if the room grew darker with intent while he, Severus, and Remus closed in on Dumbledore. "We've had a Dark Magic Specialist looking for Horcruxes, Albus. They say there's one more. One in Harry's head."

Severus made some sort of horrified noise and swore violently under his breath.

"Yessss." Dumbledore swallowed, his lips pressing together in a thin line. "I saw. Saw Tom. Touch your head, Harry, my boy. After James's death. So yes, Harry. I just didn't want you to be burdened by that."

Snape bristled and Remus turned to Harry, as if to ask if they should tell Dumbledore what they knew.

"And my mother's death?" Harry asked, just to see what the old man would say. He deliberately buried his hands in his own pockets to keep himself from cursing Dumbledore himself. No telling if he'd be any use in a fight against Tom at the present juncture, but Harry wasn't going to waste a possible resource.

"Oh," Dumbledore moaned. "It was a tragedy, my boy. So sad. Severus . . . please!"

"Not until we get the truth, old man," Severus Snape said, looming over the bed. "What did he do with that death on his conscience?"

"Or was it your conscience that carried it?" Harry demanded to know. His mind was made up. "You, _you killed her_!"

Dumbledore's gasps and whines and pleas halted for a few breaths. Harry could practically feel the doubt flowing from Remus—not from the revelation, of course, but from his choosing to say something that day.

"Lily? Me? No, I—"

Harry set his jaw and snapped his wrist so that his wand was in his hand, warm and almost buzzing with magic. "That curse, Severus. Will it kill him?"

"On the ring? Yes. It will take some time, so I arrested the effect of it temporarily. Still, as you can see, the cursed flesh is advancing."

"Can you remove the charm and then renew it?" Harry inhaled through his nose, taking in the smell of terrified man, along with the faint remains of a peat fire and lemondrops.

"I can. But it might take several minutes."

"Do it."

Severus touched the line on Dumbledore's right arm where the necrotic flesh ended and the, well, not-so-unhealthy skin began. "There."

The old wizard screamed.

Harry hardened his heart, pushing aside the memories of his earlier years at Hogwarts, when Dumbledore seemed like the best man in the world. "Admit to killing my mother!"

"Harry! No!"

"Yes! I just want to know why!" He rolled up on the balls of his feet, his limbs begging to fight, to act. He confined himself to using words for the moment.

"Harry! Torture is Dark!"

"Murder is darker."

"She did not suffer as you make me!"

Harry actually snorted. "And that makes it all right?" He closed his eyes and tried to remember. "Ah, _Lenio_." It wasn't entirely effective, as the curse was still active and even now creeping up the white skin of Dumbledore's arm. "There. Now. Why?"

Dumbledore stared into Harry's face, then briefly moved to Remus and Severus before returning. "You don't know, Harry, the work that I've done," he whispered. "We need to end it. To bring Tom to a right way of thinking, or to fulfill the prophecy. All my efforts have been for the greater good." He inhaled on a ragged breath, but Harry blocked all hints of pity in his heart. He had to hear this. "Your mother would have, have interfered, lad. Lily. A good woman, but too strong-willed."

Severus swore again, any vestiges of patience snapping. " _Crucio_!"

"Snape!" Remus shouted. "Harry needs this!"

The Unforgivable was canceled with a flick of Severus's wand and Harry nodded. He'd been shocked, but not appalled, and that worried him. He needed to talk to Hermione about this. _Hermione_. . .

"Hermione," he said aloud. "Is that why you had her declared dead? Kept her from me? All those years?"

"It was for the greater good . . . I swear it. Harry, a chess game cannot be played by too many players on one side. Surely you learned that in your first year."

"What the bleeding hell were you _doing_?" Harry demanded, pointing his wand at Dumbledore's head. "The greater good? My mum killed for that? How dare you claim to be a Leader of the Light?!"

Remus's hand came down heavily on his shoulder. "Harry. C'mon, now. We had a plan, remember? Interrogate and detain."

Harry jerked away from the restraining hand but lowered his wand arm. "Right. A plan. Well, Dumbledore, know this. I will avenge my mother's death. Keep that in mind. Severus?"

"Yes?"

"I want him able to think about this." He darted a glance to Remus, who nodded. "Anticipation can be its own kind of . . . punishment."

"Perfect."

Severus cast a series of charms on Dumbledore's blackening arm. The curse was working toward the shoulder and Harry guessed the heart or brain would be next. That didn't leave him much time. "We need Mad-Eye."

"On it," Remus said, still watching Severus and Dumbledore. "Half a mo'."

"And the ring—it should be destroyed. It's another one. Number Six."

"I'm not touching that."

Severus waved his wand and the air in the room seemed to lighten a bit. "Nor I."

"Bill Weasley . . ." Harry said the Curse-Breaker's name with a twinge of sorrow and regret. "Bill used a warded, dragonhide bag."

"Did you not bring one?" Severus asked with a lifted brow. "I told you he had a cursed ring."

"I didn't know I'd have to destroy it," Harry responded. "We could go get one. Take it to Gringotts."

"Still don't want to touch it," Remus reminded him. He stepped toward the door. "Look. Snape's not going to touch it, nor I. Hermione's done this and I trust her to manage it again. Besides," he went on, crossing the room again to study Dumbledore, who was watching them with pain-glazed eyes, "I have an idea."

Harry watched as Remus seemed to be overtaken by his inner wolf, a predator. "What?"

Eyes flashing with golden lights met Harry's own. "If we take care of the final one . . ." Harry rubbed at his forehead, frowning but nodded for Remus to go on. "This will be the last one. He'll come for it."

"Bait?" Severus inserted himself into this part of the conversation as he rolled down his sleeves, covering his Dark Mark. His smile was feral. "I like it. The Dark Lord will come, and . . ."

A sense of dread, overlaid with a dark satisfaction, filled Harry's chest. "And I'll avenge my parents." He met the eyes of each of the other men. "Dad won't like that."

Severus snarled. "As if I would care."

"Sirius will love it. He'll want to be here. You don't want to do this alone, Harry."

"Merlin," Severus said, turning to choose a book from a stack on a side table. "We'll want half an army."

The notion of losing yet more in the pursuit of the end of this war chilled Harry. "No, we can't do too many. Severus, can you get him here alone? We'll have reinforcements," he said, holding up a hand. "Dad, of course, and Tonks, and Mad-Eye."

"And Miss Granger? Dagworth? Whatever she is calling herself?" Severus asked with a sneer.

"Maybe I can get her to stay with her coven until we're done."

Severus laughed, a long, loud sound that shocked Harry and even had Remus staring at him. "I highly doubt even you, Potter, will manage that."

With a sinking feeling, Harry acknowledged that he might not manage that. "Still, I'll try. All right. Sooner we get this done, the sooner you can marry Tonks, Moony. C'mon. I need . . . to talk to Hermione."

"Right," Remus said. " _Expecto Patronum_!" he called. To the silver wolf that appeared, he gave directions for Mad-Eye, saying he'd be at the Ministry within a quarter of an hour.

" _Expecto Patronum_!" Harry called when Remus was done. "To Hermione," he said to Prongs, who shook his ethereal, horned head. "We have answers. Come home."

 _Home. Come home. Hermione, come home. . ._

The words chanted like a soft comfort in his mind, soothing after the harsh edges of their "visit" with Dumbledore.

The men arranged who would stay with Dumbledore and who would escort Moody before Harry left them. He needed to see Hermione.

* * *

 _A/N: A bit dark, no? Well, Harry and Hermione are back in touch first thing next chapter, and "There will be joy." Next chapter up on Saturday, and I'll have a peek up Thursday on my tumblr blog: s **ummerisbittersweet dot tumblr dot com**._


	20. Ceremonia

**_A/N:_** _A note about the Native American ritual aspects that will appear in this chapter: I am not attempting any kind of cultural appropriation, but I am creating an idea based upon traditional healing practices of some of the Southwest Native Americans. Naturally, there will be differences as this is actual Magic by witches and wizards, but I hope the spirit of the thing is here. Crystal references have been researched and do have meanings and purposes similar to what they're given here._

 _My thanks to all who are reading and leaving me notes! It's great to interact with you. And to **Katmom** , my dear friend, who continues to find my missing quotation marks._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty **

_**Farecliffe Hall**_

"Harry! Merlin, how are you?" Her accent was mostly British that day, and Hermione was not unhappy about that as she half-leapt at Harry in the privacy of the Apparition Foyer of Farecliffe Hall. Between talking to the goblins and hearing, but ignoring, the whispers at Gringotts and on Diagon Alley, she had heard more British than anything else of late.

Harry's body felt hard and stiff against hers, so she pulled back a bit to check his eyes. His forehead. Ignoring that horrible, repulsive compulsion that seemed stronger at that moment than any time prior, she patted the mobile in her pocket, remembering her conversation with Adam, finished minutes ago. "Harry?"

He clenched his jaw and pulled her against him again, a bit roughly. "Hermione. It was . . . Merlin. Just . . ." He shuddered in her arms and she felt a spike of fear along her scar—a new occurrence indeed.

"What happened?" she murmured, moving so that her lips brushed his throat with her words.

He sighed, hopefully due to her touch, and relaxed just a little. "Dumbledore confessed to killing my mum." When she would have moved away, he held her more tightly and told her all that had happened, finishing at last with, "I just had to get back to you. You make me feel . . . more myself. Like, I know I'm my best man when I'm with you."

Her breath caught in her throat and she kissed his jaw. "Oh, Harry. I love you."

He choked. She could feel it and it made her feel all soft and warm, despite the awful feeling the Horcrux in his head gave her.

"Hermione," he managed to say after a few moments, his voice sounding thick and strangled. The sound went straight to her heart, making her eyes burn with unshed tears. She hated to hear him sound sad, but she kind of loved that she affected him so strongly. He nuzzled her head and, with his thumbs at her jaw, tilted her head back. His eyes were wet as well, incredulous and happy. "Hermione," he said again. "Really?"

She smiled as her own tears slid down her cheeks. "Honestly, Harry. I always have. Even when it hurt."

A tightness pinched his expression for a moment, but it left just as quickly and he was kissing her. She sighed and gave herself up to him as much as she could, yielding muscles and skin and breath as he seemed as if he would incorporate her into his own body. He felt so good, so perfect, and a pressure that she'd been carrying around for weeks eased. This. This was where she belonged. Home. Home was where Harry was, always and forever.

"I love you, too," he murmured against her temple. "Promise me you won't go off and leave me like that again."

"I'll do my best." Then, she tilted her head back and regarded him seriously. "You made me a promise, as well, remember? And you've already broken it."

"Me? What? I—no, Hermione. What?"

She scowled. "You said Dumbledore had a Horcrux."

"The ring. Yes, but 'Mione, we didn't know that when we went. So, I didn't mean to break a promise to you."

"Fair enough."

He moved to take her hands in his but didn't meet her gaze. "Can we get something to eat? I'm starving."

After Dobby served them a quick dinner—fish and chips, as Hermione had expressed a delight at getting "real" chips again in England—Hermione studied Harry thoroughly. Every time he met her gaze, he smiled, his eyes warm and happy. Which pleased her because she wanted him to be happy with her. But when he wasn't directly looking at her—speaking with her about something non-Horcrux related, or expressing how fantastic it was to know she felt the same as he did—he appeared distracted and worried.

She sipped at her cola and played with the last chip on her plate. "What is it, love?"

He blushed all the way past his fringe and she wondered if she'd caught him thinking naughty thoughts rather than troubling ones. "I don't want to make promises I can't keep," he said quietly.

That made her a bit nervous so she sipped at her cola and wished for something stronger. "Good plan," she said into the heavy silence that resulted. "Planning on making me a promise?" Her heart thudded hard as she asked.

He swallowed and shoved his empty plate from himself. Dobby appeared as if he'd been waiting for that signal and bounced happily around the table. "Ready for afters? Dobby made treacle tart, Master Harry's favorite!"

"Thanks, Dobby," Harry said absently. Then, after Dobby had popped away, Harry met Hermione's gaze directly. "Look. We have to finish this. This thing with Voldemort. Dumbledore. We have to."

Feeling foolish for thinking Harry had been contemplating more personal or _intimate_ topics, Hermione held back a blush and nodded in her best manner. "Of course. I'm here for you, you know that."

He flashed a small smile. "I know, but, Hermione. I'm worried about you being anywhere near when we fight them." She half-stood to protest, but he rose as well, hand out in apparent supplication. She crossed her arms and waited while he spoke. "Look. You've done amazing with the Horcruxes. We're all agreed that you should take the one from Dumbledore's hand when it's time. And, there's the one here," he added with a disgusted twist of his lips as he pointed to the top of his head. "I know you've been thinking about how to work with it, right?"

She nodded. "I'll need a new crystal though. The snake sort of swallowed my old one." Taking a deep breath, she was about ready to blurt out her plan for how to remove the Sowlio rune from him, but he used that pause himself.

"You're the most amazing witch of our generation," he said with a kind of reverence that embarrassed and pleased her. Dobby returned with the treacle tart and Harry thanked him before coming around the table to take Hermione into his arms. She sighed and watched his face. "You are. You're fantastic and I adore you. But I don't want you fighting Voldemort. Or being in the same room with Dumbledore. He killed my mum because he thought she would be too strong an influence on me. He might, Hermione—"

"He won't lay a hex on me," she declared firmly. "And I won't be kept away from any encounter with Voldemort. You know that."

"I thought you could—"

"No," she insisted, bracketing his face in her hands. "Not if Merlin himself asked me. I have to be with you, Harry James Potter-Black. I can't be left behind again."

He shut his eyes tight and touched his forehead to hers. For long moments, they just breathed together, in and out, and she slowly moved her hands up and down his chest and abdomen whilst he tangled his fingers in her hair. "You're stuck with me."

"I'm stuck with prophecies as well," he murmured.

Thinking of the one that had started this whole mess, she nodded. "Probably. But. I can help you with the rune and the Horcrux in your head. Want to come to Arizona with me?"

Sirius chose that moment to make his appearance. "You're not doing that without me."

Hermione peeked around Harry's broad shoulder. "Never even crossed my mind." Sirius had gone a bit wild to find out that some Dark Magic was stuck in Harry's head, and he was really a fine parent, so of course he'd want to oversee or witness any rituals used to rid Harry of the Horcrux. Extending her hand to him, she caught Harry's hand with the other. "I already spoke with Adam and the coven is expecting us."

* * *

 _ **Next Morning, Montezuma Coven, Yavapai Reservation, Arizona**_

Adam Quanah grinned into the shining light of the summer sunrise. He stretched and relished the feeling of his muscles protesting a bit before he took a shower.

Today, a prophecy would come to pass. Not too often that that happened, and he was looking forward to being involved. It was odd in many ways, for he knew that his My-oh was a large part of the prophecy. She and Harry Potter, who was so much a part of her life.

" _My-oh, why don't you just go back to England, if he's so important to you?" Adam had challenged her shortly after the prophecy he'd been given had ended their relationship._

 _Hermione frowned before wiping all expression from her face, leaving an impassive mask that fooled Adam not at all. "No one wants me there, Adam. Here, I'm making a place for myself, right?" Her gaze had flickered a bit with uncertainty that he had endeavored to alleviate._

" _Of course you are. You're a great teacher and the children have learned a lot in your classes. Stuff we might never think to teach them about the wider world of magic."_

" _And I've learnt much from you as well," she'd acknowledged. "So no more talk of me going back."_

Adam had let it go, but only with the sure knowledge that she'd leave him and return with Harry Potter-Black or the younger wizard would appear one day in the desert looking for her. The prophecy said as much.

* * *

His grandmother was bustling up to his door when he was ready to leave to prepare the space in the Castle. He'd been there since My-oh had left, of course, to cleanse the space after her experience with the Dark Magic she and the Englishman had encountered. The headless corpse of a snake—a reticulated python, he'd discovered by comparing it to other snakes of its type—had been laying on the cavern floor, half draped over a pointed boulder. The head, eyes open and clouded in death, had been some feet away.

Not wanting to take any risks with it, Adam had set it aflame behind a sturdy fire ward, right there in Montezuma's Castle, less than two hours after Hermione had spoken to him about it.

"Adam!"

"Hey, Gramma." He bent to hug her as she entered his home. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Oh, you." She patted her many cloth layers as she moved slowly toward the rocking chair he kept just for her use. "Ah, here it is. A crystal for Hermione. You said she said she lost the last one in England? Careless of her."

Adam frowned but took the lump of chalcedony. "White?"

"Yes. It's for the ritual. To remove the darker magic in the man she'll be bringing."

Adam turned the waxy white crystal over in his hands. It wasn't elegant, but it seemed to be purposeful. Then, it hit him. "You see her warding this with a rune, don't you? As she did with your mother's . . . token."

His grandmother nodded decisively and rocked in her chair. "I do. She'll want a new crystal, but I feel that she should seek it for herself. This one, though, I believe should be used in the ritual circle."

Adam weighed it carefully in the palm of his hand. "It's of a good size."

The elderly woman snorted and tapped her fingers impatiently on the arms of the rocking chair. "Of course it is. Now, she'll need a focus crystal before the ritual. So that she can carve the rune."

"Of course, Gramma. I was thinking Azurite for her. I have some in my shop, ground to points and ready for chains. Will you see to it?."

Julia pressed her lips together and nodded. "Azurite. Good. It promotes meditation and concentration and will give her casting power." She smiled then, her eyes dancing in the wrinkles that surrounded them. "You've seen her spirit animal? I wonder what the bear would do with Azurite!"

Adam smiled a little. "Indeed. Do we know what his spirit animal is?" He had forgotten if Hermione had ever told him.

HIs grandmother rocked a final time and then rocked up to her feet once more. "I don't know, no, but if it is compatible with hers, it will aid us. Are you going to prepare?"

"Yes."

She nodded. "Good. I'll greet her at her old house when they arrive."

"Thank you, Gramma."

* * *

"Making a Portkey isn't nearly as hard as they say it is," Sirius told Harry. And it wasn't. He took a rather horrid cane from Grimmauld Place—nothing dark about it, save the shade of the wood itself—and performed the necessary charms, with input from Hermione.

Who was reluctant. "Aren't they illegal?"

Sirius snorted. "Do we care? It isn't as if they'll know. No trace on your wand or mine."

Harry had just wrapped his arm around his witch and whispered something into her ear that made her blush. Sirius could have listened in, but he chose not to; his son's privacy was important.

Besides, he had the feeling there would be years of eavesdropping to come!

After adding her location additions to the charm, Sirius bound the cane to its purpose and put it aside. "The morning has passed us by, but you say we'll just be catching sunrise, Hermione?"

The young woman nodded and touched her long, burnished braid of hair. "Yes. You've got a change of clothes?"

Sirius met Harry's eye and the men smiled. "Yes, Hermione," they answered in chorus.

She smirked and tossed her head. "Very well. If you're quite ready?" She shifted so that her bag was slung more securely on her shoulder. Harry's haversack was charmed to be featherlight, as was Sirius's own. He wore jeans and a bespoke blue and gray cotton shirt, buttoned down and long at the sleeve so as to conceal his holster. Harry was much more casual in black jeans and a long-sleeved, red t-shirt. Hermione was back in the shorts and top she had worn when she'd come to them, weeks before.

Sirius braced himself, made sure they were all touching the cane, and then concentrated. " _Portus_."

They swirled and flew and he was nearly sick, so far did they have to travel. International Portkeys were convenient as regards to time, but they played havoc with a man's innards. Still, he managed to have his legs moving as they came to a sudden space in warming air with the sun bright and low to the ground behind them.

"Whoa!" Hermione shouted, landing on her hands and knees in a flat, dry, sandy space. "Harry? Sirius?"

Sirius and Harry landed, and Sirius felt a bit smug that he managed to stay on his feet, whilst his son rolled arse over elbow, swearing lightly. "All right there, son?"

"Yeah, Dad. Just great." He stood, wiping his clothes off with one hand whilst extending a hand to Hermione. "You, love?"

"Great, thank you." She grinned as she stood, inhaling deeply. "It's so funny. This wasn't my home for most of my life, but I've missed it, even so."

"It remembers you."

"Julia!" Hermione dashed from Harry's side to greet the small, round, Indian woman. The women said some words that Sirius didn't even understand, and rubbed cheeks before the older woman brushed her hand down Hermione's face.

"You're looking well, My-oh."

"I'm feeling well, thank you, Julia. Let me introduce you to Sirius, Lord Black and his son, my friend Harry Potter-Black. Sirius, Harry, this is Julia Quanah, the senior witch of the Montezuma Coven and my good friend."

Sirius exchanged looks with Harry before they approached the older woman. "Good to meet you, ma'am," he said. "Thank you for opening your coven to help my son."

The old woman peered up into his eyes and Sirius got the impression that she was using some sort of Legilimency on him, though he'd never ask. "You . . . will not lose him," she said with a soft, craggy voice that reassured him. "He has the spirit of magical renewal."

Sirius felt his skin grow cold, but he couldn't look away. Though her magic was strange to him, being here in a place he didn't feel comfortable and where the sense of the magic was different, he believed her entirely. "Thank you."

She turned to Harry. "Show me your spirit animal. My-oh's is a bear."

"Grace," Harry said. "I named her."

"Naming a spirit animal? Hmph. Show me."

Without missing a beat, Harry pulled his wand and aimed it in the direction of the small house they had landed near. " _Expecto Patronum_!"

As it always did, Sirius's heart clenched to see Prongs gambol about, antlered head held high in obvious pride. "Prongs. Good to see you."

"A deer!" The woman stood, arms akimbo, and grinned. "That is indeed good to see." She smiled at Harry, patted his arm, and turned to Hermione. "So. You have need of a new crystal and I've one for you to use for the ritual."

Hearing "the ritual" served to rile Sirius's nerves once more. He drew nearer to Harry. "What do we do first, then?" he asked.

"Come."

* * *

"Pretty impressive, Hermione," Harry murmured as he looked up into the cliff-based dwellings that made Montezuma's Castle. "Whoa," he added, closing his eyes and feeling the magic before him. "You said this was the center of your coven's magic?"

"Yeah. Pretty amazing. The ritual will be up there, in a cavern Muggles can't even access. They don't know it's there." She was fingering the midnight-dark azurite crystal on the silver chain around her neck. Julia, the senior witch of the coven, had shaped it so that the crystal came to a sharp point that could prick for blood if needed.

Because that wasn't worrisome at all, was it?

Around them, several men and women appeared, silently shedding invisibility spells of some sort that Harry didn't recognize. He was sure they weren't Apparating in, but had some other means of Disillusionment. They all stared at him. Hard.

One man in particular. The man approached.

He wore leather buckskins like out of a pictorial history book, with beaded bracelets on both wrists. His shirt was white and open at the throat, and a crystal hung from a chain around his neck as well. His hair was long, straight, and black, worn loose as it swung over his shoulders. Instinctively Harry knew who he was.

"Adam Quanah," he said, stepping forward and extending a hand in greeting. He was not going to be a jealous git. He _wasn't_.

The man paused in his forward motion before grinning hugely. "Harry Potter-Black. My-oh. Good to see you both."

Harry felt his hand enveloped by warmth that wasn't at all threatening, though the expected power was there. Was the other man trying to intimidate him or was he really so entirely at his ease?

Knowing he would be meeting Hermione's former lover had given Harry some cause for worry, but he couldn't remember why, at that moment. There was such a stillness about Adam Quanah, a sense of rightness and authority, that Harry had no room to be jealous.

 _There was nothing to be jealous about._ The idea was firm in his mind by the time he and Adam had finished their co-evaluations and Harry reclaimed his place next to Hermione.

He blinked, stared at Quanah, and gripped Hermione's hand with definite purpose. He could hear her sigh a bit, but she didn't move to greet the other man personally, aside from saying, "Hey, Adam. Thank you for preparing everything. And thank you for the new crystal." She smiled a little. "I can _feel_ the difference between it and my old one."

"It is my honor. Come. I believe our circles will work, but I want your input."

Harry felt odd, as if he were on display, as the collection of people from the Montezuma Coven made nearly soundless steps across the sand and through scraggly bushes to the etched rock. "We don't levitate, here," Hermione murmured. "It works against the land. So just do your best, all right?"

He did, blinking to see how the people around them smiled at Hermione before fading from view, leaving behind an impression of moving air.

"I've gotta learn that," he said quietly.

Hermione laughed. "Just Disillusion yourselves, you two, so no stray Muggles find you. Then, see that doorway just up there, ah, yes, where Adam is waving at us? I'll be up there."

She clasped her new blue crystal, said some words in a language he didn't know, and seemed to fade as well. Stunned, Harry looked to Sirius, the only visible person in the area. "Is that weird for you?"

"Oh yeah. C'mon. We'll do our best."

"I've never been rock climbing," Harry cautioned.

His dad laughed softly. "Me, either. Glad I wore jeans."

They worked their way up noisily, slipping here and there, but ultimately gaining the flat ground where the Castle was reigning in all its ancient glory. Hermione appeared, then, and he was undeniably relieved to see her. "Well done!" she said, grinning.

He was reminded of her rather smug attitude from early Hogwarts years but now, as then, he couldn't begrudge it to her. Instead, he pulled her against himself and kissed her fast and hard on her smiling lips. She sighed and returned the favor before moving and tugging on his hand. "Come."

"As soon as I'm allowed," he decided to say, for he was growing rather agitated over the coming mystery ritual and so resorted to stupid jokes to ease his own inner tension.

She tossed him a look over his shoulder. It smouldered, but there was caution as well. "When we can, all right? The way you are . . . I, I can't."

He nodded; they'd talked about the cock-blocking effect of a Horcrux on her libido already. His dad, though, snorted. "Guys, I don't know if I'm old enough to be hearing this."

"Shut up, Dadfoot."

"Enough," Hermione muttered. "We're here."

Sirius took a loud breath as they stepped through a hollowed room in the cliff's face to go through it to an enormous cavern. White rocks were lit, brighter than bluebell lights, throughout, so that Harry felt he could see everything. A clear space was open just ahead of them, and in that space there were various shapes made from colored sand.

A circle, broken after a fashion due to the man-size ovoid in the center that was bereft of all save a jagged black line that looked a great deal like his scar. Another circle had been drawn or sand-painted nearby. That circle was divided into quadrants and each quadrant had a color: red, black, yellow, and white. He didn't know what they signified, but Hermione seemed pleased. "It's a medicine wheel," she told him quietly. "Adam said he was blessing it to honor the aspects of life."

She let go of his hand and moved to the ritual circle, stepping around its borders, murmuring to herself. "This is great, Adam. The prayer sticks?"

"We're ready to light them as soon as he is in the center."

"All right, then." She withdrew the white stone she'd been given by the older lady, Julia, earlier. Chalcedony, he'd been told it was called. Useful for protection from Dark Magic, and the containment thereof, he hoped.

"Before we begin," Adam said. "I have to share a prophecy with you, My-oh, and Harry Potter-Black."

"Shite, not another one," Sirius said on a low whine.

Quanah approached Harry and the non-threatening notions Harry had received before were done away. The wizard was in his prime. A man of wisdom and power and he had known Hermione. Known her intimately. For how long, Harry had never inquired, but it had to be longer than a week.

"I call the coven to come forth," Adam said, his voice projecting and echoing about the hidden chamber of Montezuma's castle. All the people gathered, coming to surround either the large circle with the rune in the center or the smaller one that Hermione had called the Medicine Wheel. "I was given a prophecy this year regarding our My-oh and the man she brings with her. Today it will be fulfilled."

"Share with us the prophecy." Harry was shocked to find the speaker was Julia. He hadn't imagined she'd be able to reach their remote location. Clearly, she had hidden resources.

Harry stretched a bit to lace his fingers through Hermione's. She was part of the coven and in the larger circle, which then made room for Harry himself. His dad, though, stayed just a step behind him. Hermione squeezed his hand and nodded.

Quanah spoke:

 _The White Deer comes in the light to eject the dark_

 _The Great White Bear will guide him._

 _She will belong to him, body and heart_

 _And her love will hide him._

 _Relinquish the claims you have_

 _To make way for the blessing tomorrow_

 _In the castle you will make your stand_

 _In the dark, for the light, ending sorrow._

The silence was total after the words were spoken and Harry felt a chill move over his skin. He recollected another prophecy and felt compelled to share it, but Quanah pointed a feather at him.

"Show us your spirit animal, Harry Potter-Black."

He didn't even hesitate. The White Deer was himself, the White Bear was Hermione, and he knew all about how love could and did protect. " _Expecto Patronum_!"

The members of the coven cried out in awe at first and then settled down. Quanah pointed his feather at Hermione. "Show us your spirit animal, My-oh."

" _Expecto Patronum_!" Grace materialized in the air before her and Harry felt the breath leave his body when Prongs and Grace met in the air over the larger circle, as if they were getting acquainted.

"The spirits of the brown bear and the deer are made to co-exist," Julia intoned from her place near the northernmost intersection of the Medicine Wheel. "In nature, they live in the same space. In the spirit world, they are complementary. The deer is a symbol of magical rejuvenation, his spirit one of innocent wisdom. So is Harry Potter-Black protected and chosen." There were murmurings around them but Harry didn't hear what they said. He was flummoxed by what he was hearing. Julia sought his eye and smiled a little across the stone floor. "The bear is a protective totem, representing strength, healing, and courage. She is a teacher of the innocent. A protector of the wise."

Harry stared at Hermione, then, and wondered if their whole lives had been predicated on her Patronus and his. "'Mione," he whispered.

She was almost glowing, he swore she was. "I love you, Harry."

"Come into the circle, Harry."

"Wait. I have a prophecy I should share as well," Harry declared. Behind him, his dad sighed and Harry turned toward him a little. "You haven't heard this one, Dad."

He cleared his throat and the Patronuses halted their circling. Grace moved toward him, but he didn't worry about that. Her search for the Dark Magic had been successful.

" _Your year will be busy, the culmination of all._

 _Many will rise and many will fall._

 _The cost will be high, the pain will be deep._

 _He waits at the crossroads, your appointment to keep._

 _Yours is not the only scar; another scarred one travels far._

 _You may see victory over much that is not by your hand_

 _And then at the end, with your true love you'll stand_

 _If you just keep faith—be strong. Be awake._

 _Or Darkness will triumph, your victory to take."_

"This was given to me by a Seer in my presence. Luna Lovegood," he added for Hermione's benefit. She gasped but her hold on him only became tighter. "And I'm prepared to keep the faith."

"It is well," Quanah said, his voice sounding a bit rough for some reason. "Come. Let us remove the Dark Magic from you, White Deer."

He was guided by Hermione to the oval in the center of the larger circle, carefully avoiding the lines of colored sand. Around them, small bundles of gathered sticks were settled into clay jars and they all burst into smoky flame at the same time. Prongs and Grace hovered overhead. His heart started to pound hard enough that he could feel his shirt moving on his chest.

"Hermione?" he whispered, suddenly realizing he had very little idea of what was to come.

She smiled up into his eyes and nodded slowly. "I love you," she told him again.

"I love you, too."

"I know." Her smile was bright but then it disappeared. "Have faith in us. In me. This is going to hurt. I swear to you that I honor your mother's life and death and wishes, but I need to break the protection she placed on you."

"I know. I trust you, 'Mione. I always have."

"Right, then." She blew out a breath and closed her eyes tight for a moment. The glow of the rocks around them seemed to brighten then dim, then brighten again. She removed the crystal from around her neck with one hand and gripped the white, lumpier crystal in the other. Her words made no sense to him, for they weren't proper Latin, but he could feel the power she wielded even as her blue crystal touched his forehead.

Then, pain drilled through him, a pain that crossed his forehead and seemed to extend to his very heart. Gritting his teeth, he managed to remain on his feet as she held the blue crystal high over her head. Prongs moved, bringing light with him and Grace joined them, her protective presence startling him as she seemed to move right through Hermione's body.

" _Inyaga_!" she shouted, pressing the smoother white crystal on the most painful part of his body. " _Inyaga_!"

All those around them chanted the same word. He'd find out later that it meant Black. She was calling the darkness, though, he knew that immediately, for he felt it.

He felt it. The slimy, invasive presence that tried to push its way out so many times. It was pushing and pushing and—

" _Nyimsava_!" the circle called out in loud unison.

" _Nyimsava_ ," she whispered. He felt the power leave him, as if it were a snake or heavy rope. It was like the feeling when you could feel phlegm leave the throat. He remembered it from childhood illnesses. It was horrifying to think of that being in his head.

And then, it was out and he fell to his knees, blood coming from his fingers. He heard his dad cry out but Quanah said something and Dad was quiet. Grace enveloped Hermione, then, and Prongs ran circles around them in the air over the sand paintings.

"Sowlio for binding," Hermione murmured over his head. A gasp of relief sounded around the chamber. Then, she knelt next to Harry. "We can't leave you unprotected, love. I have to give you another rune." He nodded; whatever she felt was needed, he trusted her entirely. "Algiz, the rune of warriors. Protection and Opportunity."

He felt the tip of her crystal touch his forehead but instead of pain, there was a cool sort of sealing to be felt. A healing touch that calmed and made him feel as if he were being supported by loving arms.

"Hermione . . ."

The white presences of their Patronuses moved beyond the circles and disappeared. That was the last thing he remembered before he passed out.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Whew! Longest chapter in this story to date. _

_Sex? Did they mention **sex**? I haven't forgotten and neither, I assure you, have Harry and Hermione. Next chapter up on Tuesday!_


	21. Contracto

_**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who is reading and adding this to your lists! A special thanks to **medward** , for catching review #600! Very cool of everyone who's taking the time to leave me notes. :) And, of course, my undying gratitude to **Katmom** , who screeches in the margins and makes me giggle. _

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

 _ **Montezuma Castle**_

"Adam!" Hermione caught Harry as he slumped over at the end of the ritual. Her mentor hurried, Sirius at his side, to kneel next to them. A part of Hermione's mind noticed that the sand painting was disturbed thereby, but as the ritual was over, she didn't draw anyone's attention to it. "Sirius, it's out."

"You're sure?" His voice was thick and she could see wet tracks on his face. "It's done?"

"It's gone. I caught it in the chalcedony and bound it with the rune. I've done that before, and it's an effective method."

"Hermione . . . Merlin, I love you." Sirius Black, Constant Marauder, gathered up his son in his arms and wept silently over him.

After settling her new azurite crystal around her neck once more, Hermione ran her free hand through Sirius's hair, just because she felt he could use the reassurance of touch whilst Harry remained unconscious. Then, she rose to her feet and met Adam's gaze as he rose likewise.

"Can I see it?" Adam asked, not holding his hand out in expectation, but clearly interested.

She nodded slowly. "Sure. We just need to find a place to destroy it." She handed the waxy white crystal to him.

"I have a warded, dragonhide bag in my haversack," Sirius said soggily from the stone floor.

Hermione didn't mention that she did as well, because she imagined it was important for Sirius to be able to have a role in this. "Good. Then we can take it to Gringotts again."

Sirius looked up at her with a grin splitting his tension-free face. "You should just claim Vault Number Three as yours, you know? You spend so much time there."

"Me? You're the one who went in with the Fiendfyre last time." Still, she smiled down at the man. He'd had a hard day. Then, she looked to Adam again. "Thank you, so much. If there's anything we can do for you, let us know, all right?"

"Well, I'd like to meet the goblins you spoke of . . ."

"'Mione?" Harry shifted in Sirius's arms.

The older man snorted. "Not bloody likely, son." He moved and set Harry up to sit on his own. Harry adjusted slowly, eyes blinking like an owl's in bright sunlight.

Around them, the coven drew nearer, though four of the members were properly sweeping the images into indecipherability with the sand-sweeping charm that sent the bright grains away and apart from one another. Harry took in their movements as well before looking at his hands and swearing softly.

Sirius eyed Hermione and she knelt beside them. "Sorry, Harry," she said, moving to clean his hands of the drying blood on them. "How're you feeling? Are you in any pain or anything? Want something to drink?"

He watched as his blood left his hands and then touched his forehead, which Sirius had already cleaned free of any taint of his ordeal. "I'm exhausted, honestly," Harry confessed, "and my forehead is a bit sore. What did you do there?"

Hermione thought and then rummaged in her bag for a mirror. "Here. You can see what it looks like." She gave him the small mirror and he angled it, moving his fringe of hair out of the way. "Algiz?"

"That's the one."

Harry handed her the mirror back and cupped her cheek with his hand. "You said you chose it because you didn't want to leave me without protection. Thank you."

"Always, love. You know that." Leaning forward, she carefully kissed his forehead and let herself relax. "It's gone. Adam's got the warded stone, so we can take it to Gringotts."

"But not today," Adam said, his voice firm with authority. "We'd like to have a party, My-oh, since you're here." She met his dark, smiling eyes. "Even if it's just to pack up your house."

Blushing, she rose to her feet once more. "Yeah. Thank you. I couldn't have done this without your teaching and help." She swept her gaze around the chamber, catching as many individuals as she could. "Thank you, everyone."

"A party?" Sirius inquired, getting up and helping Harry to his feet as well. "Well, that's always a good time. Say, Mister Quanah, what do you have for a man to drink around here?"

 **. . . .**

 _ **Near Camp Verde, Arizona**_

The magical enclave of the Montezuma Coven was, of necessity, largely not noticed by the non-magical people of the area. However, the homes were still modestly constructed and if someone did happen to see the village that shouldn't have been there, it would not have aroused suspicion.

The meeting hall was of a similar nature. Round, made of adobe for insulation, it held far more people than one might suppose. Here and there were metal sculptures that were repeatedly charmed with cooling spells for everyone's comfort.

"Why not just cast a general charm and celebrate outside?" Sirius had asked her quietly soon after their arrival. The press of people had been a bit overwhelming, even for him, apparently.

She'd smiled. "Well, we like to act with our environment, not against it. This is a desert, after all, and it wouldn't do to act as if we had priority over the ancient landscape, would it?"

Sirius laughed, his pale cheeks darkening. "Well, not if you put it like that, no."

"It's different, here."

Harry was off on the other side of the building, engaged in a tête-à-tête with Adam. Hermione was trying not to stare at them. "You know, Fred and George were telling me about their product lines, and I wish I had one of their ears, here."

Sirius glanced at his son and back to her. "The Extendable Ears? Really brilliant inventions, actually. The boys have done remarkable things."

"I'm sure. Say." She bit her lip and glanced around before casting a quick silencing spell. "Has Harry said anything to you about what he and Adam are talking about?"

Sirius's gray eyes danced with instant mischief. "Maybe he's taking notes!"

"Sirius!" She blushed, embarrassed, and didn't even notice when Harry's dad winced in silent apology. "Do be _serious_ , would you?"

"No, he hasn't said anything. Hermione, don't worry, all right? Harry loves you. Trust me. And nothing anyone could say is gonna change that. He lost you once; he's not about to let that happen again." Large, warm hands enveloped her shoulders and Hermione met his eyes. "Relax." When she nodded, he adopted his playboy persona once more. "So! Anyone I need to meet whilst I'm here? Any good snogging corners?"

At that, Hermione found it in herself to grin. "Now, if I knew of any, do you think I'd tell you? I fully intend, Lord Black, to abscond with your son at the soonest possible opportunity."

Sirius smiled—an expression of such singular sweetness and paternal care that Hermione was nearly brought to tears. Her own father never looked at her like that, that she could remember. He had never seemed to enter into her concerns nearly so well. Indeed, he had actively obstructed them. Seeing that Harry had that was the most amazing thing.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for being his dad. He deserves so much."

"You helped, you know. You gave me courage, young lady. So don't forget that, all right?" He pulled a watch out of his pocket. "Huh. So. We need to let them know at home that we've been successful. There's one—no, two—more things we need to take care of."

She glanced across the room at Harry, who was shaking hands with Adam. "Maybe three?"

Sirius laughed uproariously, and she didn't even care.

 **. . . .**

 _ **Hermione's House**_

"Dad made us a Portkey." Harry appeared a bit nervous as he followed her into her house after the party. "He said he had to go home. He wanted to take care of the, er, thing."

She lit candles and smiled to find a bowl of charmed-cool colas. Her favorite whilst she'd lived here had been Coca Cola and someone—Julia? Adam?—hadn't forgotten. "That was kind of him. Sorry he had to leave early."

Harry was examining the room, looking at pictures she had and the books she'd collected. "Well, Gringotts was closing and he wanted it gone." He shot a glance at her from across the room. "So did I."

"I don't blame you." She moved to join him, resting her head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her. "Are you looking for something particular?"

He opened his mouth, glanced at her, and then away. "Er, well. I didn't see pictures of us, 'Mione. Of us when we were younger, you know? Or even of yourself. I know you took some, but—"

She sighed. "My parents, Harry, got rid of everything, you know. Anything magic. Photographs, my D.A. Galleon, they even left Crooks." She had mourned for the loss of her familiar, and hadn't heard anything about him, so she moved along quickly. "No school robes or ties, not even my trunk. They . . . they wanted to sever all connections."

"Hermione . . ." He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close and she relaxed into him. "I'm so sorry. It's a stupid thing to say, maybe, but I am."

She shook her head; it was years ago and the future was approaching with bright promise before them. "How're you feeling?"

He smirked. "Well, that's a topic change, right enough."

With a shrug, she acknowledged it was, and studied his face. His hair was hanging loose just now, catching the light of the small candle flames scattered about the room. His forehead was hidden as he bent to meet her perusal, so she brushed the fringe up for a moment. "Any pain?"

"Not at all, actually. I mean, a bit tender, maybe. Like I scratched it with a fingernail, but nothing worse." He turned her in his arms so that her back was to his chest. "And you? How're you feeling? Any weird repulsive compulsions?"

She smiled and dropped her head back against him. "Not a one."

* * *

 _ **Malfoy Manor, Temporary Home of Tom Marvolo Riddle**_

"You do know what time it is?" Narcissa Malfoy snapped as Snape emerged from the Floo and brushed ashes from his black frock coat. The Potions Master had an image to maintain amongst the Death Eaters and before the Dark Lord. Narcissa ostentatiously moved to stare at the clock in the hall just beyond the foyer. "Eleven o'clock. Nearly midnight, Severus."

Severus nodded and tugged at his cuffs to make sure all was in order. "I am aware. I do, though, have news for our lord and did not wish to delay bringing it, no matter the hour. Some things," he went on with a speaking look, "transcend time and clocks, Narcissa."

A scream rent the air at that moment, a woman's scream, and Severus did his best not to let his anger and worry show. Instead, he maintained his impassive expression and kept his mind clear of secrets. "You have guests?" he asked coolly.

Narcissa winced and set her jaw. "A Mudblood. He's getting . . . restless."

Severus dared to smile. "I think I might have the cure for that."

With a quirk of a brow, Narcissa nodded. "All right, then. Come on." She led the way through a dark and quiet house. It was rather eerie. Severus didn't dare to ask where everyone was; he'd either be seeing them in a minute or he would be rebuffed with prejudice. Either way, he felt he was best served by silence. They went down two corridors before descending the stairs to the dungeon-like basement.

It was a place Severus knew rather too well, to his shame. Another scream rent the air, followed this time by choked cries for an explanation.

Which caught Severus's attention. How often did that happen? Pleas for mercy, acts of defiance, yes. But a rational request for a reason? Unheard of in these rooms.

Miss Granger would have done so, though, he was fairly certain. Still, he didn't think Granger— _Dagworth, right_ —would have been captured by the Dark Lord. She was with Potter even now, so Black had said.

Could a Patronus smirk? Severus would have sworn Black's did.

"My lord." Narcissa swept into the dungeon, black satin robes flowing behind her, and bowed to the white-skinned, noseless creature to whom Severus was bound. "Severus has arrived with news." She then exchanged a look with Severus, deliberately did _not_ gaze at the captive in the room, and swept out of the dungeons once more.

Severus moved a casual glance over the stone-lined room. There were six others of their elite cadre against one wall, avidly watching the bloody denigration of the woman chained against another wall. He eyed her dispassionately. Not quite naked, she was nevertheless on display. Blood dripped from her arms, legs, and abdomen, yet Severus could do nothing but perhaps distract the Dark Lord's attention.

Even if he did so, though, it was likely the others would have their way with her, terrorizing and victimizing her in the worst of ways before killing her.

He shook his head and turned. He couldn't do anything about it just at the moment, unless . . .

"My lord," he said slowly with a deep bow. "I have news."

The Dark Lord cast a _Silencio_ at the woman on the wall and, with an irritated roll of his wrist, asked, "Yes?" in his high, impatient manner.

"I have found and _bound_ Albus Dumbledore, my lord. He is in possession of two of the Hallows."

It was startling to see just how thrilled the Dark Lord could look, given the right circumstances. "Really? Marvelous. Where do you have him? Did you bring him to me?"

Severus shook his head with all evidence of humility. "No, my lord, for I wanted to present a plan to you." He looked about significantly at the unmasked Death Eaters across the room.

The Dark Lord waved them out before folding his hands on his lap in a pretense of patient accommodation. Severus held his hands loosely at his sides. "Harry Potter and _his_ Mudblood will be with Dumbledore tomorrow, I have it on excellent authority."

"I had heard she was back from the dead," the Dark Lord said with a sneer, his red gaze fixed on Severus's face. "How do you know this?"

"They have been out of the country doing some sort of ritual with the local Indians," Severus said, doing his best to make it sound bothersome. For he wasn't to know about the Horcruxes, nor any of the machinations that had occurred with the Dark Lord and his splintered soul. "And before I silenced Dumbledore, he told me that the Mudblood was back and she had taken Potter off for some little ritual of protection with her _Aboriginal_ coven." It was in Severus's best interest to make as light of the ritual as possible, for it would be an evil day indeed if the Dark Lord knew he was nearly mortal.

He thought the Dark Lord tried to snort, but without a nose, it didn't quite come off. "Well, that's perfect." He rose to his feet and crossed the room to where the Silenced woman still dangled, tears dripping from her bloody cheeks. "She is as bad as Potter's mother, eh, Severusssss?"

The hurt would never, ever disappear entirely. "Quite, my lord."

"I have come to a decision. You will show me where Dumbledore is and you will maintain his binding—you were a fool to leave him, but I see that this is important for me to know. I will come to him tomorrow. We will tell no one of what you have told me. But, Severussss. Do not lose the Hallows. Which does he have?"

"The Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone."

If it were possible for the Dark Lord to have a sexual climax, he would have done so, right there in the Malfoy dungeon. As it was, bliss practically poured from him and he gazed upon Severus with something so near affection that it made Severus's skin crawl. "Ahhhh. Well. I will wrap up this Mudblood in a body bind, shall I? And if all goes according to plan, you may have her _and_ Potter's Mudblood tomorrow with my compliments."

Severus made himself smile as he bowed low before the Dark Lord. "As you wish."

* * *

 _ **Hermione's House**_

The house was modest, Harry knew that, but he was glad Hermione had permanently transfigured her shower. Slate gray tiles with mosaic turquoise inlay in shapes that were reminiscent of runic wards—maybe they were?—looked amazing when wet and slippery.

Hermione would look breathtaking wet and slippery.

"Oh, 'Mione," he moaned quietly, stroking himself, imagining her gorgeous hair in wet ringlets over all that skin, and her deep, dark eyes watching him and . . .

"Merlin! 'Mione!" He hissed, thrusting into his own fist in her shower. He just wanted to take the edge off, just wanted not to have the quickest "quickie" in Wizarding history. Just wanted to make sure he could focus on her, not himself, when they . . .

"Harry?"

He froze, hand around his turgid erection, as his Hermione opened the shower door, as beautifully clothing-free as he could possibly have imagined. Ever. He was mortified, though, to be caught red-handed. "Er . . . Sorry?" He turned away from her and rested his forehead on a tiled wall.

"Oh, you've got nothing to be sorry for," she assured him. And he felt her slide up right behind him, skin to skin. "I wanted to join you, so I'm hoping you aren't going to stop on my account?"

"Join me? You wanted to . . ." He concentrated very hard on not touching himself, though he could feel his heartbeat in his cock, which was twitching with Hermione so close.

"I wanted to," she murmured, her lips against his skin. Her breasts pressed against his back and he closed his eyes and did not moan out loud. "You said you'd never been with anyone in the shower before. Neither have I. I thought, you know, we could be each other's firsts?" She laughed and he loved the way that felt, with the water slicking up their skin. "So, may I?"

Her fingers began tracing wicked patterns on his hips and he had to move back a bit into her body lest he rub himself against the actual shower tiles. "Anything, you have to know that."

"Mmmm. _Thank_ you." She gripped him then, with a shocking, incredible thoroughness. "Oh, no. Nothing to be sorry for at all, love," she said again, stroking him slowly at first, clenching her fingers in interesting patterns that sort of mimicked what her inner muscles might just do. "You feel amazing, you know. And, Merlin, the way you _sound_ . . ."

"Oh, hell, 'Mione, just . . . just like that." She swiped the tip of his erection with her thumb and then she caressed the frenulum, and he almost lost it right then, swearing between clenched teeth.

He felt her breath grow heavier against his back and she started rocking into him. "Come for me, Harry."

That was all he needed, and it hadn't even taken a minute. He called her name, his beautiful, brown-eyed girl's name, and came, hitting the tile and still feeling the hot water of the shower falling on him. "I'm so sorry. I was trying not to . . ."

"I sure hope you don't always apologize."

He laughed and turned, sliding his arms about her and pushing her hair out of her eyes. There they were. "You're . . . just perfect, you know?" She smiled and he bent to kiss her, to try to show her, since words weren't his best thing. The water made her slippery and that gave him the idea to reciprocate, right there in the shower, so he did, moving her so that she could brace herself against the wall before he knelt slowly before her.

He nuzzled her first, breathing in the scent of hot, wet Hermione. She sighed and a flashing glance saw her breasts rise and fall and he was totally ready to make that happen again, so he pressed kisses against the crease of her skin on one side of her mound and then the other and she started thrusting up against him. "Please, Harry!"

He couldn't resist that, it was inspiring, actually, so he opened her to the spray of the shower, which startled her and then made her laugh. "Merlin! Really? You're creative."

He laughed against her skin before moving in to taste her. Taste the essence of his girl. His witch. His woman. "Mmmmm," he hummed against her.

She actually swore, which shocked him and made him smile broadly as he flicked his tongue in an up-and-down ladder over her labia. "Harry!"

Testing her with a finger, he found that yes, those inner muscles _were_ very active and he entered her, first with one finger, then another, as he knelt and licked and hummed against her. She was reduced to incoherent pleas, her hips moving in teasing circles in front of him that he kept up with by sheer determination to see her come apart.

"Come, Hermione," he said on a hum next to her clit and she _did_.

"Harry! Harry! Oh, oh, oh!"

As he was a hard, hot, throbbing coil again, he pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the discomfort caused by the tile floor and his kneecaps, and lifted her up against himself. "Want to? Here?"

Lips parted, eyes barely open in her still, fluttering pleasure, she nodded. He lifted her a little and settled her solidly on his erection, entering her without ceremony, just moaning with her at the exquisite, amazing feeling of having her body surround his own. Her eyes flew widely open and they stared at one another. He smiled, seeing her, here, with him. Exactly whom he wanted for the rest of his life. "Hi."

"Hello."

And then he moved, thrusting into her and hoping like hell he didn't slip. She braced herself against the adjacent two walls of the shower and locked her feet behind him. The water started to cool, but he couldn't have cared less. He held her, felt her, loved her right there, eyes open, in the shower. And then he leaned in just a bit, trying to hit her sweet spot and it did the trick.

Good thing, too, because he was desperate to explode within her. "Spells?" he said on a rasp.

"Covered."

"Good." He cast his own, wandless and wordless, and felt her muscles tighten around him. "Oh, 'Mione, so close, love."

She bit her lip and let out a low, guttural moan, her head rocking side to side as she came again. He let himself follow, his rhythm abandoned, his body driving only to fall with her.

Then, she slid down and he relished just the feel of her around him. "That was, wow."

"It really was."

They parted so he could turn off the water and when he turned back, she was still leaning against the wall, smiling, watching him and eyeing him in a sultry way a man could _completely_ get used to. But. He stood in something he recognized as close to shock. "Hermione." He swallowed hard and made himself not close his eyes. "Your scar." He could see it, bisecting her torso in that ugly, mottled, jagged line. And it was his fault. _His fault!_ His eyes burned. "Why, what . . .?"

Her voice was warm, compassionate, but she stayed where she was. "I glamoured it. I didn't want to, er, ruin the mood." He dragged his eyes from tracing the path of the curse that had nearly killed her and met her own. She smiled a little. "It's a part of me now, though. I won't glamour it again. I just . . . I _needed_ you. That. Our time."

He touched the scar tentatively, realizing he hadn't done that in their lovemaking just minutes ago. He'd been focused, but not thorough, in his attentions to her. "I needed it as well. Needed _you_. But, Hermione, I . . . Merlin, I feel . . ."

"Do not feel guilty." Her tone was implacable and she moved at last to catch his hands in hers. "You didn't curse me."

"Dolohov did. Ron, Ron caught him, you know. I was glad."

"So am I." She looked nervous, then, and slid her hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders. "You need to know, though, that this curse, well, it nearly killed me, and the healers managed to save my life. But . . . they didn't make me whole, Harry. I can't have children."

Pain sliced through him for what she'd lost because of him and he couldn't help but see where the end of the scar was. Right _there_. "Hermione. I'm so sorry." She went to protest but he shook his head and she hushed. "No. It _is_ my fault because I went even when you thought it was a mistake." He met her eyes again. "And it was a mistake. So it's my fault. And I'm sorry."

"It's all right. I mean, I never really saw myself pregnant anyway." She rolled up on her toes to kiss him gently, chastely, and he wrapped his arms about her. "And I know you've got a family to be head of and all, so we could adopt, right?"

And there, in the midst of his pain and sorrow for her, she found him and made his heart smile again. He cleared his throat. "We? So, you're wanting to stick around for a bit, are you?"

"Well, the idea had crossed my mind."

"Marry me?"

She laughed, and their wet skin made them slide a bit against one another. He was reminded that they were still in the shower and this was possibly the oddest but most amazing day of his life. She made it the very best day in one word.

"Yes."

* * *

 _A/N: Next up...well, I bet you can guess! Posting on Friday. And . . . I should have a sneak peek up tomorrow. I kept this chapter under wraps, but I am fairly certain y'all want to see what's next. Thanks for reading!_


	22. Adimplementa

_**A/N:** First, a bow to **moreremusplease** , who tore through this (and other stories), leaving me notes along the way. Thanks so much!_

 _Second, a curtsy to **Katmom** , who is my ever-present brain in time of exhaustion. :) She's had a rotten summer cold, and still answers her email! _

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two **

_**Farecliffe Hall**_

Laughter surrounded Hermione and Harry when the Portkey dropped them, unceremoniously, seven feet above the floor.

Sirius, Remus, and Tonks were lounging at the perimeter of the room that morning, each one with a pillow on their lap. Soon, the pillows were fired at Harry and Hermione, making it nigh on impossible to get to their feet.

She laughed as well. "Pillows," she cried, gasping. "What next, little rubber balls?"

"Had a good time of it, did you?"

"So? Worth waiting for?"

"Took you long enough to get home, kids."

Hermione felt her face catch fire, whilst Harry plowed ungracefully to his feet and glared at them. "Yes, yes, and what time is it?"

Hearing him answer like that helped Hermione banish her irritation and embarrassment as she wondered when Harry would make their announcement for them. They had decided, before Portkeying home, that he should do so as they would be in the midst of his family.

"It's half seven, Harry," Tonks said, crossing her legs and grinning like a mad woman. "Had a good night, I take it?"

"We left in the middle of the night, Tonks." Hermione opened her bag with its Undetectable Extension Charms and rummaged about. "Harry helped me pack my house. It was rather a busy day."

Remus sobered, rising to his feet and clearing the floor with two swipes of his wand. "So we heard. May I see, Harry? Your forehead?"

Harry turned to Hermione and smiled softly as he took her hand. "In a minute." Her former Defense professor sat down again. "First you need to know something."

Hermione felt her heart jump. They hadn't seen anyone from the coven before they'd left, so no one else had heard that she and Harry were engaged. This was the first time they'd be telling anyone and she was unaccountably nervous. She squeezed Harry's hand.

He reciprocated and straightened his spine. "I asked Hermione to marry me and she said yes."

She laughed, feeling ridiculous for the lightning-fast nerves that had possessed, then left, her. "I did."

Sirius's face lit up brighter than Christmas in New York. He didn't even have words, there, as he beamed, laughed, tugged at his hair, stood, sat, and then finally crossed the room to envelope Harry in his arms.

"Pup! Prongslet! Wonderful news. Wonderful. Perfect." He was still grinning like a madman, she thought, when he let Harry go and swooped her up and off the stone floor with a shout. "And you! I knew I loved you."

"Hey!" Harry protested with a laugh.

Sirius let her down, his smile softer, now, but no less proud as he included Harry in a family hug. "Best thing I could think of. After, you know, getting that thing out of your head, Pup."

Remus and Tonks took this as their cue to join them and, for fully a quarter of an hour, there was nothing but joy and congratulations filling Farecliffe Hall.

But then, the Auror amongst them sighed and stepped back, her face flat and inscrutable. "Sorry to break this up, but we have people to contact if Remus and I are ever going to get to make our announcement as well."

Hermione blinked. "What?"

Tonks offered her a subdued smile. "We've decided to get married, but only after the Dark Git is gone."

With one arm around Tonks's shoulders, Remus nodded. "So, let's get to work." He fished a scrap of parchment from a trouser pocket. "I've got a list here of everyone who's ready to join us and they'll meet us here and then we'll all take a Portkey—"

They all groaned, save for Remus.

"—A _Portkey_ ," he repeated, "to the cottage. Minerva knows where it is, so that's handled. So does Mad-Eye. So that really leaves the Weasleys." He looked to Harry. "Is Ron still at the Burrow?"

Harry's skin heated and Hermione had to smile a little. "Well, maybe? He's got a girl, now, who lives in Muggle London."

"You can send your Patronus to him?"

"Yeah. He and Prongs are old friends." Harry's smile held a lot of memories and Hermione sighed inwardly. She might share a few of those memories, but not most of them. She'd missed so much.

"Hermione," Remus said next, focusing on her. "Would you, wait, are you all right?" He winced and scrubbed at his graying blond hair. "Merlin, you two. I've forgot. Have you had any sleep— _sleep_ , Pads, so close your mouth—in the past twenty-four hours?"

Hermione shrugged and met Harry's look. Oh, there'd been sex in the shower and then she'd done her best to deep-throat him before he got dressed and they'd tumbled into bed and snuggled and talked and dozed before waking in the odd but welcome circumstance of her sprawled atop his body, his heat rubbing against hers.

But sleep?

"Some," they said in unison, then laughed.

"Right." Remus grimaced. "I hesitate to recommend some Invigoration Draught, but you might want a phial to take with you."

"Take-away style potions!" Tonks inserted. "Just in case."

Hermione wordlessly accepted both phials and, after removing her potions kit from her bag, she tucked them safely away.

"Merlin, Hermione," Sirius asked in apparent awe. "What have you got in there?"

"Oh, about everything, Sirius. Plus two phials of Invigoration Draught."

* * *

Sirius Black had seen war. He'd fought against Death Eaters. Hell, he'd stayed in Azkaban for more than a bleeding decade. He'd seen war. He'd seen his son, Harry, fight in a war as well. It was more than any man should have to see, but he'd survived it.

Somehow, it was worse this morning.

The dueling room—where he, Harry, and Remus had spent years working and playing—was nearly filled to functional capacity and it was barely eight in the morning. Eight Weasleys joined Minerva, Remus and Tonks, Harry and Hermione, and of course Sirius himself. At the cottage, where they'd be going, would be Mad-Eye and Snape.

Fifteen people against the darkest lord in Europe. Would it be enough?

Harry leapt atop a bench and shot bright sparks from the tip of his wand. "Hello. First, thank you all for responding so quickly. Just wanted to go over a quick plan before we leave."

Arthur Weasley nodded and said, "We know this is your fated fight, Harry. Proud we'll be there to see it and help if needed." Others mumbled similar sentiments, but Sirius wasn't one of them. Instead, he was seeing Harry as the lad had been over the years. When he'd been scrawny with glasses falling off his nose. When he'd shot up like a weed that one summer and was all feet and hands. The time he had entered the Hall for the first time and nearly cried to have a real home. . .

And here he was, an adult, leading an army—again—and engaged to be married.

Married. Merlin. _James, Lily, you'd have loved this girl so much_.

"So. I spoke with Severus Snape and he informed me that Voldemort would be expecting to see Hermione and me this morning with Dumbledore. Something you do not know, but that you ought, was that Dumbledore did not only lie about declaring Hermione to be dead."

Hermione hopped up carefully to join Harry on the bench and took his free hand in hers. "He's lied about a great deal," she said, then she offered a look to Harry that Sirius couldn't interpret.

Harry nodded, though, and said, "Dumbledore told everyone that I survived the Killing Curse."

"The Boy Who Lived and all that shite," Remus said from his spot next to the wall.

"Didn't happen. The only Avada that night came from Dumbledore himself. He killed Lily Potter. He killed my mum."

Sirius watched as Hermione and Harry let the furor run its course before Hermione sent sparks from her wand shooting over everyone's heads. "It's a long story, and we don't have time for it now. Harry said that to tell you that the whole Boy Who Lived thing is a lie. Lily Potter protected Harry, but not in the way she thought. Lily cursed Voldemort and he stayed, what, disembodied?" Harry nodded and she went on. "Disembodied for years. He's going to be at Dumbledore's cottage very soon and we will be there to meet him. Dumbledore is a murderer. Voldemort is evil. Please don't second-guess Harry or anything he says or does."

Harry lifted her hand to his lips to kiss it and then shot a mischievous look at Sirius, who smiled a bit. "Nice one, Pup," he murmured. No one heard him.

His son continued. "We're going to Apparate or Portkey to the cottage and then everyone will Disillusion themselves save me and Hermione. Dad and Remus are to come into the cottage with us, no matter who else is there. The rest of you, I need you to surround the place and take care of any Death Eaters who might have accompanied Voldemort. If we do this right, we'll be in and out in less than ten minutes, with bad guys being the only casualties."

"And if not?" Charlie Weasley asked, his brow lifted skeptically.

Harry blew out a breath and met Sirius's eyes. "If not, it's going to get messy. Be prepared. Any questions?"

There weren't any. In the space of less than a minute, the dueling room was empty and Sirius warded it as well as the entire estate. He had to preserve it for his son.

There was no doubt in his mind that Harry would return, but Sirius was not as sure about his own fate.

He smirked as he sketched out a final ward at the gates to Farecliffe Hall. "Not like I have a Dark Magic expert of my own, do I? Nor prophecies about her. Well. This will be ready for them both, no matter what happens."

* * *

 _ **Dumbledore Cottage, River Esk, Scotland**_

"Don't start," Hermione muttered, yawning behind her hand.

Harry yawned again, for the third time, as he assessed the cottage and tried to discover who, precisely, was inside before he made an entrance. "Sorry. I was fine 'til Remus mentioned being tired."

"Same here. Want the Invigoration Draught?"

He did a quick assessment of himself. "Yeah. You as well, all right? If we get the post- I.D.-Shakes after, we can handle it then." It was a side-effect of the potion. Sure one woke and was alert and functional for a limited period of time, but then it was as if there was a huge adrenal drop and a man got all shaky and wobbly. Not the best condition to be in to handle the Dark Wanker.

Hermione handed Harry his potion's phial and he swallowed the contents, feeling the nearly instantaneous burst of energy as he handed the phial back to her. After meeting her gaze, he nodded and turned his focus outward.

" _Homenum Revelio_!"

The "reveal the humans" charm revealed nothing at all outside of the cottage. Inside, though, anyone there was still hidden from their eyes. He straightened his spine, checked to see that Hermione's crystal was in evidence around her neck, and led her to the front door. Behind them, he heard the dual pops of Apparition that told him his dad and honorary uncle had arrived.

He didn't call out to them; he just entered the cottage, deciding to make it a big entrance. "Shields," he whispered.

He could hear Hermione whisper, " _Protego horribilis_ ," as he did the same. He didn't point his wand up, however, though that was the traditional motion. Instead, he concentrated on himself and Hermione.

"Dumbledore!" he called.

There was a scream. A ragged, weak scream. The scream issuing forth from a man too weary, who had perhaps screamed for too long without reward. Harry shuddered. Though he wanted Dumbledore to die, Harry was not a sadist.

Unlike some.

The screaming stopped abruptly. "Harry Potter. Oh, it's Harry Potter- _Black_ , now, isn't it? And you've brought your pet Mudblood. _Charming_."

Tom Marvolo Riddle sat at the foot of Dumbledore's bed, wand held negligently to dangle over Dumbledore's legs. His voice was high, thin, and somehow insubstantial, even though it came from a wizard who radiated power. He wore gray robes that appeared to be heavy. Perhaps they were lined with some sort of armor. His noseless face was set in what were likely supposed to be pleasant lines, his red eyes neither narrow nor wide. "Well? Are you going to stare at me all morning? I've been expecting you."

Severus was near Dumbledore's head. His posture was stiff, alert, but secretive. Harry did not envy the man the double role he played. "Potter. What brings you here? Come to rescue the old man?"

Hermione, who was standing near enough to Harry's free hand so that he could feel her twitch, cleared her throat. "No. I think we've come to kill him."

Harry huffed and nudged her with an elbow in an overplayed manner, as if shushing her. "I want to know why," Harry said. He knew this was a play, of sorts, and could only hope that their audience was receptive. "But, it is a bonus to see you, Tom."

"Do not call me that!" Voldemort stood, extending his wand. "You will kneel before me as your lord or I will slay your Mudblood! I meant to have you with me from childhood, to claim as my own, but you've been ruined."

"Meant to have me? When? When you put a piece of your soul in my head?" Riddle started then, and his wand faltered a little. "Oh, yes. Found it. Thanks so much for the present. We've unwrapped it already, you see."

"Trust me, Harry," Hermione whispered, leaning into his body before stepping away from him.

The mere sentence terrified him, but he gripped his wand and waited whilst his fiancé raised her hand to her crystal. "Seems a Mudblood," she said, her tone saucy and perhaps a touch too arrogant, "can find things like the pieces of your soul. I can contain them, as well!"

She dashed to the bedside, grabbing Dumbledore's blackened hand to pull off the ring.

"No!" shouted everyone else in the room. Including Harry. Still, she did it, seemingly uncaring about the damage it did to Dumbledore. Hermione tugged the ring off with one hand whilst she pulled her necklace from around her neck with the other, draping the ring over the crystal.

Snape swore as Voldemort flicked his wand at Hermione, casting something wordless and dark red at her.

It bounced off to hit _Dumbledore_. "Ah!" he cried, arching his back on the bed.

"No!" shrieked Voldemort. "No!"

Remus and his dad appeared in the cottage at that moment as Dumbledore struggled and flailed about, freed from whatever containment that had held him. Their wands were out and they had curses flying. Harry only barely saw Hermione roll on the floor to Severus's feet, before both she and the former bat of the dungeon seemed to disappear from the room.

"Hermione!" Harry screamed.

"She's gone! My spy has claimed his reward, Potter. And now I claim you!"

Harry steeled himself, shielded himself, and aimed his wand at his nemesis. " _Reducto_!" The hex bounced off without incident.

"Ha! As if that would work when I wield this!" Riddle sneered as he lifted Dumbledore's wand. "I took it from him and it is mine!"

"Harry!"

"Dad, find Hermione!" He couldn't deal with the distraction.

Sirius flared a light, brighter than a cloud-free noon, into the room and Voldemort hissed. Harry called, " _Expelliarmus_ ," to get the wand away and then, Sirius and Remus both aimed blasting curses at Tom Riddle as he fell back against the wall of the cottage.

"Got it!" Harry called, gripping the Elder Wand.

"Got 'em!" his dad and Remus said in unison.

Stunned, Harry crossed the room to stand between the two men. There was Tom Riddle, a hole through his gut and one arm blown to pieces so small they couldn't be seen. His eyes were still gleaming red, though, so Harry shook his head. "Not dead yet, you dark bastard? _Dissolutio_." He pointed the Elder Wand at Tom Riddle and spoke the Disintegration Curse dispassionately, but with deadly intent. A thick red light shot from the tip of the wand to hit Riddle's chest and the effect was immediate.

The darkest wizard of the age exploded, turning into particles that blew everywhere.

Sirius fell to his knees. Remus grabbed Harry in a one-armed hug. And coming in behind them, Minerva McGonagall shouted, "Is he gone?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I think so."

"So's Albus." Minerva sounded sad and vindicated as she looked at Dumbledore, which Harry totally understood. Expressions ranging from horror to victory and back to loss seemed to pass over everyone's faces.

Everyone's save— "Bloody hell! Where's Hermione? Severus?"

Panic erupted in his chest. What if Snape had, after all, played them false? What if he'd taken Hermione and the final Horcrux? What if . . .?

Ginny, who had been outside, dashed in. "Harry! It's 'Mione! And Snape! And—" She paused to gasp in a lungful of air but Harry didn't wait to find out what she was going to say. He ran.

Severus Snape, still garbed entirely in black and white, though he had shed the frock coat, stood over Hermione's motionless form. "Stop!" Severus called as Harry lifted his wand. "Wait. She's fine, Potter. Put that wand away and approach slowly."

"What happened?" The question was echoed in chorus behind him.

"Snivellus! What did you do?"

"Black. Shut. _Up_. She's _fine_. Now, Potter, are you going to come carry her off like a proper hero or what?"

Heart pounding, Harry took a step forward. His dad, though, stopped him. "Are you sure, son?"

"Yeah. If she needs help, I'll Apparate us out of here to St. Mungo's."

"Good. And if you do that, I'm killing Snivellus. Snape. Damn him."

"Not without proof, Dad," Harry advised with a lifted brow. "Let me go."

Each step felt impossible. Each one. _What if it wasn't Severus but the Horcrux? What if it killed her? What if it's inside her and I have to get it out? I can't do what she did. What if Voldemort possesses her? What will I do? I can't survive losing her again_.

"Where's the ring?" he heard himself ask, his voice wooden as he reached Hermione's side and knelt on the grass next to her. Her skin was warm, that was something. He felt a bit better.

"She . . . created some sort of impenetrable bubble once I dropped the ring—Stone and all—into a phial of basilisk venom. You know, what you used to destroy the Diary. The ring dissolved and she had to keep the dark soul within from escaping."

Harry pressed his forehead to Hermione's and felt her breath, faint against his nose and mouth and he smiled. "She's not dead."

"No, you dunderhead. She's not dead. She's exhausted. Whatever it was she did seemed to take everything she had."

"Harry?" Ginny's voice carried across the open grassy area. "How's Hermione?"

He felt his own limbs tremble with equal exhaustion as he turned to face the sea of hopeful gingers, his dad, his uncle, an Auror, a Headmistress, and—

"Wait? Where's Moody?"

Snape sighed. "The Dark Lord took him out immediately. Alastor didn't have a chance. Of all the times for him to see a man about a horse."

Harry scowled at the stupid slang as it pertained to Mad-Eye's death, but he could imagine that the timing could not have been worse. "Well, damn."

"Indeed." Severus sighed and Harry looked up at him, though he seemed to have to work very hard to focus in the brightening light of the morning. "I am sorry, you know. I know he spent a great deal of time training you. He did well." With another sigh, Severus added, "Your mum would be proud."

"Harry?"

"Hermione!"

All other considerations were set aside with relief as Harry scooped Hermione up into his lap. He couldn't carry her off like a proper hero, but as they were surrounded by friends and family, he found he didn't really care.

* * *

 _ **Farecliffe Hall, 1 January 2003**_

Minerva McGonagall won the prize for most surprising gift for the Dagworth/Potter-Black wedding.

"He apparently made his way out to Hagrid after . . . well, after," she told a tearful Hermione Potter-Black. "Hagrid and I looked after him in your honor, of course."

"Crookshanks! Oh, Professor!"

"Minerva, dear."

"Minerva. Thank you! You're the best!" Hermione embraced her and Minerva returned it as much as she could. She felt uncomfortable, with that one enormous secret hanging between her and everyone, but she kept it close.

She'd never been a demonstrative person, anyway.

Still, she waved as Harry and Hermione left their wedding reception to go to a certain island known only to Sirius Black. "We need a month to get sorted," Harry had announced with a red-faced grin.

"And make a plan for what to do next," Hermione had added with a nod.

Minerva brushed the lingering cat hairs from her dress robes. Perhaps she'd offer the pair jobs on their return.

Or perhaps they'd take over the Ministry. Either way, the English Wizarding World would benefit.

 **\- 0 - 0 -**

 **The End**

* * *

 **End Note: And that's a wrap!**

My thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing since the first chapter. You've borne with separation, angst, "Not that pairing!" and so on.

My thanks to everyone who joined in here toward the end. You took a look and stuck around anyway!

My thanks to everyone who's popped in to let me know you were there. :) That's always a pleasure.

I really appreciate being able to interact with readers. It's always awesome.

And now, I have three historical fiction projects to get out before fall turns to winter, out here in the real world where people, oddly enough, pay me for my words. The mind boggles.

But I'll be back. _~ LJ Summers_


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